Heir of Slytherin
by rayama
Summary: Voldemort needs to find a worthy Heir in order to assume the title of Lord Slytherin. Fortunately, he planned ahead, and his grandson Harry Potter is the perfect candidate. Sort of Severitus. Rating is for Sirius' pottymouth. No pairings.
1. The Order Meets

Set after HP&tGoF

Disclaimer: Well, duh. Not mine.

This chapter has been edited and reposted on 11/17/06.

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Severus Snape sat at the beaten circular table in the Order of the Phoenix's pitiful 'war room'—the worn back parlor of 12 Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had spent the summer gathering 'the old crowd', while Severus had spent it worming his way back into the reunified Death Eaters. The last had been surprisingly easy, which left Severus even more on edge. He'd had to hear numerous retelling of the Dark Lord's 'duel' with the Potter boy from the point of view of the dozen or so Death Eaters who'd witnessed it. However, he had nothing but speculation on the mechanics of the Dark Lord's return. Neither the Dark Lord nor Wormtail were particularly forthcoming about the ritual, and the boy lacked the magical acumen to truly explain what had happened. From what he had explained of the ritual, however, it really shouldn't have worked, certainly not as well as it had. Something was niggling at the back of his mind, but he couldn't pin it down. 

Other members trickled in. Arthur and Molly Weasley and their sons Bill and Charlie, Mundungus Fletcher, Minerva McGonagall, and of course the two Marauders.

For now, Severus and several other members remained veiled behind Albus's powerful Charms, listening quietly as the others reported. Even Severus had no idea who the Headmaster's other spies were, or even how many he had.

After several hours, most of the Order was dismissed. Only a handful of the most trusted remained, including McGonagall, Black, Lupin, and the Weasley parents.

Albus unveiled Severus and the weary man lowered himself into a seat, sipping at the hot tea Molly poured for him.

Albus said gravely, "Severus has some puzzling news for us." He gestured for Severus to explain.

Severus said flatly, "The Dark Lord has some how located or created an Heir, and plans assume the Lordship of the House of Slytherin." His hands shook as he cradled his teacup and took another sip. He had watched torture and rape with equanimity, yet this left him shaken for some reason he could not fathom.

Black broke the silence. "What the FUCK?! Where did he find an Heir?"

Dumbledore spoke wearily, "Slytherin is an Ancient and very secretive family. My sources have only been able to locate speculation from the contemporaries of the various Slytherin Lords and Heirs. We can tentatively conclude that the Heir must be magically powerful. There have been both Lords and Ladies of Slytherin, so gender is no qualification. If Voldemort has located a potential Heir—and this is by no means definite—then he will be able to become Lord Slytherin, and inherit all that that title entails."

"Er…what is that, exactly?" Arthur asked tentatively.

Dumbledore smiled wearily, "That is another mystery."

Severus added, "The Dark Lord seems to believe it is something very significant that he as only the Heir of Slytherin doesn't have access to. Or at least that is the impression he's leaving. He is planning to perform the Rite of Claiming sometime in the next three months. It must be performed at the Slytherin Family Seat, but he is keeping that location secret."

"Figures," Black muttered. Everyone else nodded their agreement.

"Where did You-Know-Who learn all of this, anyway?" Molly asked.

"I believe he may have found documents in the Chamber of Secrets when he opened it as a student at Hogwarts," Albus said.

Lupin frowned. "Why would Voldemort let slip this information? Surely we won't be the only ones hunting for this Heir."

Surprisingly, it was Black who replied. "The fact that Voldie's just an Heir, rather than Family Head, is a major block to recruiting, especially in the really old, powerful families." Now Severus understood the reason for including Black on this portion of the meeting. Rebel though he was, Black was steeped in the traditions of one of the most Ancient, Dark, and Noble families in Europe.

Straight-backed and determined, McGonagall said crisply, "What sort of allies would those be?"

Black shrugged. "Don't ask me." He added, seeing McGonagall's pursed lips, "Amazingly enough, after twelve years in Azkaban and a year as a fugitive, I'm a bit behind on the gossip." Seeing several guilty expressions, he relented, though his eyes still held a certain malice. "Lord Slytherin is a very impressive title, especially to your old, Dark families. Keep a watch on those little, isolated communities. 'Lord Voldemort' won't mean a tinker's damn to them, but they may listen to Lord Slytherin. The Llewelyns have always been traditionally aligned with Slytherin, and they've been the major power in Cymru for centuries. Wales," he added, seeing some blank looks. "The scions of House Slytherin have always been very active, and helped a lot of people. Many families will remember those debts."

Severus added, "With the Slytherin Lordship on the horizon, it does seem as though many powerful people are becoming more amendable to his overtures. At one point, students who Sorted Slytherin considered themselves—proudly—liegemen of the Slytherin Family. Lords and stewards made it a habit to cultivate this by offering financial and legal aid, and actively networking on behalf particularly talented graduates. Those favors are remembered."

Albus said, "Hopefully, this will all become moot if we can find away to intercept this Heir or prevent this Rite. Sirius, do you have any thoughts on what this Rite may entail, or who the Heir could be?"

Black rubbed his bristly jaw thoughtfully. "Good ol' Mum was sure that the Slytherin line had married into the Black line at some point—through somebody's bastard get, most likely—but she said the same things about Merlin and the Loch Ness Monster. The Heir could surface in any old family. Hell, Voldemort crawled his way out of a Muggle orphanage."

Arthur said, "So we should start looking at the darker families for candidates?"

Black shook his head, "Not necessarily. Slytherins have, as a Family, been drawn to power, Light or Dark. If you really need some criteria, I'd look at old families that produce wizards and witches of above average power reliably. Especially those families in which unusual magical gifts or magical creature heritage runs."

"What qualities might the Heir require? Slytherin, especially ancient Slytherin, is a dark-inclined Family. What do dark families usually require in Heirs?"

Everyone looked at Black. "What?" he said.

Severus snapped irritably, "You are the Black heir, are you not? What were the criteria?"

Black stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. "Dunno," he mumbled through the crumbs in his mouth.

"How can you not know?!" Severus nearly shrieked.

Black shrugged. "No one ever told me. The house picks."

"The _house_?" Arthur said.

"Yup. It decided I was the Black Heir when I was 13. Mum was pissed. She wanted it to be Regulus. When I came back after the Tri-Wizard debacle, it acknowledged me as Lord Black."

"So you're telling me that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has a piece of haunted, near-condemned real-estate pick and choose the family head?" Severus said caustically.

Black shrugged. "Insanity runs in the family." He ate another biscuit. After swallowing, he said, "What makes an Heir is very personal to each family. It depends on what the family wants to preserve and encourage in their line, and by what method the heir is chosen. Slytherin was rumored to have a powerful guardian spirit—maybe even a deity—as a family patron. Voldy will have to take the Heir to the Ancestral Home and petition the spirit or whatever to recognize the Heir, and thus elevate him to Lord Slytherin."

"Can we stake out this ancestral home and wait for him to show up?" Molly asked.

Albus shook his head. "Not even the other three Founders knew where the Slytherin Family Seat lay. The Slytherin family was old and powerful even then."

---

Severus lay down in one of the musty-smelling beds in a small bedroom on the fourth floor. He was exhausted, yet filled with the same restless, jittery sort of nervous energy that had prevented him from sleeping all summer. Yet again, he felt himself slipping into restless dreams, rather than peaceful sleep.

"_The potion is ready…Father." Severus was, even years after being reunited with his Father, secretly filled with joy every time he said the word. His father was powerful and intelligent—even brilliant. Handsome, charismatic, yet ruthless. His father stepped up behind him, and peered into the cauldron of shimmering, inky black potion. "Well done, my son." A long-fingered hand rested briefly on his bowed head._

Severus snapped awake, shaking his head to clear of the oddly real dream. His father had been nothing like the dream figure. Sebastian Snape had been a short, rabbity man. He'd died when Severus was only 7. All he really remembered the man saying was, "Yes, dear," whenever his mother made one of her imperious announcements. He'd never said anything unkind to Severus, but he'd certainly never said, 'Well done,' or indeed ever referred to him as his son.

"Perhaps a remnant of a past life," he sneered mockingly to himself.

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	2. Rite of Claiming

Disclaimer: Harry Potter has, strangely enough, not yet become my property.

Reposted with revisions 11/01/06.

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Lord Voldemort watched #4 Privet Drive quietly. He could feel the wards humming, encasing the drab Muggle home in a cocoon of beautifully spun magic. It didn't like him, but it could hardly bar him—especially after Harry's blood had brought him back. He had Polyjuiced himself with hairs from a carefully chosen Muggle. He was currently around 5'10" with greying brown hair and an amiable face liberally sprinkled with laugh lines.

He checked the knot of his tie and proceeded to the door. A Muggle private detective had gathered reams of information on the habits of the Dursley family, including a tentative conclusion that their 'nephew', Harry Potter, was a victim of abuse. If this proved true, Voldemort would take appropriate action.

Or perhaps he would leave that for his son.

He walked purposefully up the sidewalk and tapped on the door. The Dursley woman's equine face peered at him suspiciously. "Yes?"

He removed his hat and smiled politely. "I'm afraid my car has stalled. Could I trouble you for the use of your telephone?" A subtle touch of magic made the Muggle see a sleek Bentley with its hood up.

His charm and obvious wealth had the expected affects on the Muggle. "Of course," she simpered at him, opening the door. "Do come in."

He resisted the urge to smirk as the woman's invitation further disarmed the wards. They twitched around him for a few moments before subsiding.

The woman showed him to the telephone. He severed the line outside the house with another flick of magic, then dialed and spoke for a few moments. He could hear someone hoovering upstairs. It had to be the boy. The detective's report had mentioned Harry doing a great many chores. He hung up the phone and smiled pleasantly. "They should arrive shortly. The young man who answered the telephone had a few suggestions that might help. I hate to impose further, but could your husband take a few moments and help me attempt a few minor repairs?"

"My husband isn't home, but perhaps my nephew…" she turned and bellowed up the stairs, "BOY!"

The noisy cleaning ceased. "Yes, Aunt Petunia?" a soft voice answered.

"Boy, this gentleman," she flashed him another smile "needs some help with his car."

Voldemort turned and looked up the stairs, his friendly, harmless smile in place. The Boy-Who-Lived trudged down the steps, head bowed. He was dressed in filthy, oversized clothes and Voldemort saw the shadow of a bruise on one cheek, hidden by a fall of raven-wing black hair.

---

Harry sighed when his aunt bellowed. Quickly winding the cord, he tucked the appliance away. Keeping his head lowered, he started down the steps. The man was very well dressed. He smiled kindly at Harry. Harry allowed himself to smile tentatively back. The warm brown eyes in their nest of laugh-lines flickered strangely. Harry frowned as the brown flickered strangely, hinting at some other color underneath.

---

This was proceeding more smoothly than Voldemort had dared to hope. He was convinced that he'd be able to quietly remove the boy from the warded home without incident. That is, until the boy paled. His eyes widened, and he turned and bolted up the steps. Voldemort huffed in annoyance, and then leapt after him.

---

Harry bolted for his room, ignoring his aunt as she shrieked, "Get down here this INSTANT!" He heard heavy feet pounding behind him. Darting into his room, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. He then threw himself to the floor, scrabbling for the loose floorboard. His hand found his wand just as someone wrenched him up by his shirt. The man's hand closed around his flailing wrist. Harry managed to gasp out a few curses and land a few good kicks on the man's shins before fingers digging into his wrist caused his hand to spasm painfully.

"_Petrificus_ _Totalus_," the man said casually, and Harry froze.

---

Voldemort placed Harry on the worn, but neatly made bed. He gave his head a gentle pat, sliding the boy's wand into his own pocket. A beautiful white owl hooted angrily at him, rattling the cage as she struggled to escape. For a warm-blooded creature, she was impressively loyal. Opening the window, he tossed the bird, cage and all, out. A few feet from the ground, the cage vanished, leaving a flustered owl scrambling to avoid impact. "Off to Hogwarts, birdie." He closed the window, then examined the rest of Harry's trove. A few Sickles, some Pumpkin Pasties in wrappers. Pitiful. He remembered his own hoard of stolen pennies and stale food at the orphanage.

He left the room, Harry floating behind him. The Muggle woman was staring at them, one hand clutching at her skinny throat. "My door…?" she breathed, swallowing convulsively.

Voldemort glanced at the doorframe, now completely sans door. "It was in my way," he said mildly.

"You're one of those freaks, aren't you?! Get out! Take the brat and go!" she shrieked, her voice thick with fear and loathing.

"I require the rest of the boy's possessions, Muggle," he said coolly. He required nothing of the sort. He just enjoyed seeing petty Muggle tyrants dance to his tune.

---

Harry watched helplessly as his aunt dragged his battered school trunk from the cupboard. He doubted his haphazardly applied anti-theft charms would do much to deter his kidnapper. The man flicked his wand again, and the trunk floated after him. The three of them made a strange procession as the left the house. Harry fought tears as the door slammed behind him. He had always known his family hated him, but the man had not even had to threaten his Aunt. She'd simply abandoned him. He thought he heard the vacuum start again as they apparated away.

---

Stark terror was an exhausting emotion, Harry decided. His kidnapper had taken the time to arrange him comfortably on a couch before leaving. He'd even placed a pillow under Harry's head. Harry found it odd that one could be bored and yet utterly terrified at the same time. He had been locked in place starting at a blank wall for at least an hour.

"Ah, there you are. Thank you for waiting." The voice was amused. Harry's skin tried to crawl off his body as Voldemort's white, spidery hand smoothed his hair.

---

"Polyjuice is a wonderful thing, isn't it, Harry?" Voldemort asked the boy as the emerald eyes filled with a horrified realization. He wished the boy was a bit sharper, but at least his instincts were good.

He had already bathed as the Rite required. He was dressed in a robe of undyed silk, no part of which had been touched by non-magical hands. Harry's robe was waiting. Fortunately, the boy's cooperation was not necessary for any part of the ceremony. That would have been tiresome. He gathered the rigid body in his arms. Time for the ritual cleansing.

---

Harry struggled uselessly against the magic holding him immobile as Voldemort stripped him. Had he not been frozen, he might have wet himself from sheer terror. Contrary to his horrified imaginings, Voldemort merely lowered him into the near-scalding water and scrubbed him thoroughly. The steamy air filled with the scent of exotic spices. He was then patted dry and draped in a silk robe.

Voldemort carefully combed his wet hair, parting it neatly. "Now you look like a proper young wizard." Even frozen, Harry's face managed to look incredulous.

Voldemort picked him up again and carried him through the manor. Or perhaps they were in a castle. It seemed to have miles of stone hallways; some draped with rich tapestries, others hung with portraits, and still others completely bare. The place was in pristine condition; yet it still felt desolate.

He was carried into a small, perfectly round room. The door closed behind them of its own accord. _§Open,§_ Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue. A circle of the stone floor melted away, revealing a narrow, winding staircase. Voldemort adjusted Harry with a gentleness Harry found deeply disturbing, and then proceeded down the steep passage. To Harry's surprise, he was neither scraped nor bumped into the wall. Belatedly, Harry began counting the steps, thinking that this might prove useful when he reported this latest catastrophe to Dumbledore. He had reached 483 when Voldemort stepped onto the floor. Soft, greenish light lit the room, giving Harry the vague feeling of being underwater.

As he was carried farther into the room, Harry realized that he source of light _was_ water; a large, irregularly-shaped pool approximately 20 feet across that filled the room with a wavering green glow. The surface was smooth as glass. As they approached, however, the water began to ripple softly. The waves became more energetic until the water was churning and foaming, slopping over Voldemort's feet as he stood at the edge, still holding Harry. Harry realized that pool was full of snakes. Or rather, it was _made_ of snakes; some as tiny as his littlest finger, others at least ten feet long. They appeared to be made of water. A large snake dashed itself against the side of the pool, splashing into dozens of tiny snakes, which blurred and melted into a large snake again. Harry stared at the water, hypnotized—it was beautiful, and undeniably magical. But his immobility and Voldemort's hands on him made this a moment of terror, not wonder.

The sibilant sounds of Parseltongue filled the chamber. _§I request the Rite of Claiming. In the name of the blood of the house of Slytherin, I, the Heir of Slytherin, entreat you.§_

The churning water stilled. Hundreds of the strange, watery snakes lifted their heads above the surface, staring at them. Denied any other release, tears of terror trailed down Harry's face. Voldemort gently tipped him forward, so the tears splashed softly into the pool.

"Finite Incantatum," he said softly. Finally freed, Harry struggled frenziedly, screaming incoherently.

_§By right of blood and voice, I present the next Heir.§_ Voldemort tossed the screaming boy into the pool.

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	3. Meeting at Hogwarts

Disclaimer: Same ol', same ol'.

Reposted with revisions 11/01/06.

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Severus woke with a start. The Mark on his forearm was throbbing unpleasantly, and a tiny blue duck was hovering in front of him, quacking. Dumbledore's code had to be the product of some sugar induced hallucination. He swung himself out of bed and dragged a robe over his head, then grabbed the duck. He hit the floor of the headmaster's office with a thud, smirking blearily as several more thuds and cries of pain heralded the rest of the arrivals. His response time was still the best.

"Please, take a seat," Albus said. He gestured with one trembling hand. Severus took in the Headmaster's tired eyes and pinched mouth with a glance. Something had gone terribly wrong.

"Harry Potter is missing. A wizard took him from his relatives' home nine hours ago."

Severus clutched at his forearm and screwed his eyes shut, swallowing bile. His stomach was churning and he could feel a migraine forming. Around him the Order demanded explanations.

"How did this happen!? You _swore_ to me he was safe there, you daft old bastard!" Sirius Black was in a fury.

"Oh Merlin! Harry! We have to find him," Molly Weasley wailed.

"But...the wards…Albus, what happened?" Minerva asked, brow furrowed.

"Shut up you lot! SHUT UP!" Moody yelled, firing off a deafening bang from his wand. The Order subsided.

"We managed to retrieve a memory from the Muggle's mind," the old Auror continued. He poured a silver stream of memory into a bowl inscribed with runes. A ghostly image of a man of late middle years floated above the bowl. "Does anyone recognize this man?" The Order murmured and shook their heads. Moody grunted. "Polyjuice, likely." The gathered witches and wizards continued to fret and seethe. Severus gritted his teeth against the pain in his head. It felt like some loathsome parasite was trying to tear itself free.

"Severus? Is something wrong?" Albus' soft voice roused him. Severus opened his eyes, then scowled when he realized the entire room was staring at him. He jerked his sleeve up, baring the Mark. The snake was writhing in an obscene dance of pleasure. And the skull now wore a black, spiked crown.

"The hell?" Black gasped.

"Voldemort found an Heir. He's made himself Lord Slytherin." And the memories came rushing back. He was vaguely aware of Albus' soft voice and Mad-Eye herding the twittering crowd through the door.

"It's Harry, isn't it Severus?" came the werewolf's soft voice.

"Harry?! Harry can't be the Heir of Slytherin!"

"Sirius, he's a Parselmouth."

"Holy Fuck."

Albus said soothingly, "It is a possibility, but this may be a coincidence. I have thoroughly researched Harry's family tree, and have found no sign that…"

"He's Voldemort's grandson." Snape's bitter laugh filled the room. "Twice."

* * *

Harry thrashed wildly in the water, fighting to reach the surface. The snakes roiled around him. Screaming inside, he tried to slap them away, but they wound themselves around him, wrapping him in a writhing cocoon. His lungs were burning for oxygen, and his vision was darkening. Defeated, he started to inhale water. Thousands of miniscule snakes surged in his open mouth. Harry managed one last convulsion before sinking limply into the watery embrace.

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	4. Son of Three

Disclaimer: There are some things money can't buy.

Reposted with revisions 11/01/06.

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"Explain, Snape!" barked Moody.

"It's…complex," Severus hedged.

"Most things worth knowing are," Albus said. Severus took a deep breath.

---

_Nineteen year old Severus Snape ran wondering fingers over the Mark so recently burned into his flesh. It had been unpleasant, certainly, but it was worth it. He had met many important people in the post-induction celebration. And the Dark Lord had requested a private meeting with him. _

_Steeling himself, he tapped softly on his Lord's office door. "Enter," the rich baritone voice said. Severus closed the door softly behind him and stood at attention in front of his Lord. The man was strikingly handsome. Wavy dark hair, a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. An elegant hand reached and gently touched his hair. "Welcome home, my son."_

---

Severus scrubbed at his face. "Voldemort was methodical and very, very paranoid. He researched Pureblood genealogies and picked my mother, Eileen Prince, to bear his son. Sebastian Snape was sterile, thanks to a curse. The Princes and the Snapes were both old, Dark families, and both had covertly sided with Grindelwald during the war. My mother and step-father were never convicted, but several of their relatives were. Both families lost most of their wealth and power. He convinced Eileen bear his son, and Sebastian to raise me as his own, as befitted the heir of an old—if recently impoverished—pureblood family. He bound them to never reveal the secret, and only told me when I'd been Marked and sworn to him. He never, as far as I know, contacted either of them after my conception. I think he was convinced that any child of his would be a target for both his enemies and his many unscrupulous allies."

"Crazy fucker," murmured Sirius, looking at him with a strange sort of empathy.

"Oh, it doesn't end there."

---

"_Father, I don't understand. She's a Mudblood."_

"_The woman she thinks is her mother is actually her birth mother's Squib cousin. Her mother went into hiding, and left Lily with the Squib and her Muggle husband to protect her."_

_Severus felt a surge of vindication. Lily Evans' charm, intelligence, and magical power had seemed to be a point in favor of the Muggle race. If two Muggles could produce a witch of such brilliance, there was something wrong with this crusade. But now, knowing this…it all made sense._

_He still couldn't believe she had wasted herself on **Potter**, of all people. But his Father, his Liege, was offering him a chance to correct that. To an extent. _

"_So Potter and Evans will be raising their sworn enemy's grandchild?" He smiled, and offered a tentative joke. "I thought Slytherins were snakes, not cuckoos." _

_Voldemort laughed softly. "We can learn a trick or two from other egg layers."_

---

"Our agents stalked Lily for months. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, they would slip her a combination lust and befuddlement potion. They would then summon me and…" he cleared his throat, trying to force himself to continue. Sixteen years later, and he still burned with shame and self-loathing at the memories.

---

"_Our agents in the Order have confirmed it. Lily Potter is expecting." The Dark Lord smiled at Severus' anxious look. "Do not fret, Severus. Several of our agents are quite close to the Potters. They will be watching out for her…and when my Heir comes, the child as well."_

"_Father, how can you be so certain that this child will be your Heir?" Severus' failing in that area was still a source of shame for him. But to give his father an Heir, a true Heir to the Slytherin Line, that itself was an honor._

_Voldemort gave him a strange, secretive smile, "You aren't the only child I tucked away, Severus." Severus' vision swam. He clutched convulsively at the arms of his charm, struggling against the vomit trying to crawl its way up his throat. Dimly, he heard, "I chose a Dark Witch to carry my son. And a Light Witch to carry my daughter."_

---

"Dear God," Albus breathed.

Severus scrubbed at his face. "He told me that Lily's birth mother was Katerina Montclair. Her birth name was, incidentally, Lilith, after Adam's first wife. Voldemort said he insisted." He took a steadying breath. "When Montclair realized who the father of her child was, she gave the child to Susan and Michael Evans. Susan was a distant Squib relative of Montclair's. Montclair spent the next decade leading Voldemort's men on a merry chase, muddying the trail so much that, when she finally took her own life to escape them, they had no idea at all of where the child was." He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to quell the urge to vomit. "Voldemort believed that the more Slytherin blood the child had, the better chances of producing an Heir."

They sat in silence for a moment, contemplating Voldemort's convoluted scheme. Finally, Black whispered, "But why did he kill Lily, and try to kill Harry?"

---

"_It seems our first attempt was fruitless. That child is definitely a Potter." It was impossible to deny. The newborn's head was covered in the hereditary Potter bird's nest hair. The Dark Lord seemed calm enough, but Severus knew that the Dark Lord loathed it when he was thwarted by such small vagaries of chance._

"_Perhaps, father…but he is still a Slytherin. He might be your Heir." Even though the child was Potter's, Severus had thought of it as his for so long that he found himself unable to let go. Perhaps not a son, but a nephew. That wasn't so bad. He carried a photo of the babe taken by one of their spies mere hours after the child was born._

_Voldemort stared down at the bustling Muggle street twenty stories below him. "Mothers grieving for a lost child often rush to fill that gap," he mused._

"_Father, you can't! He's your grandson!" Voldemort's sharp gesture cut him off. "You have potions to brew, Severus."_

---

"I managed to Polyjuice myself as one of Lily's colleagues from St. Mungo's, and she let me hold Harry. I pinched a few of his hairs and brewed the Heritage Potion."

---

_As the potion simmered, Severus remembered the feel of the tiny infant in his arms. He didn't care if the child had that damn Potter hair. He had **felt** the connection between them. The potion flashed once and gave off a puff of smoke. He gently ladled some onto a sheet of specially prepared parchment. The potion wiggled across the page, spelling out Harry's name in spidery script._

_**Harrison James Potter**_

_**Lilith Marie Montclair**_

_**James Nicholas Potter**_

_Severus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Disappointment and a strange relief. That green-eyed child was not his son…and therefore was not a product of incest. _

'_Rape, Severus,' he chastised himself. 'Call it what it was.'_

_Slowly, however, a fourth name was emerging. _

_**Severus Galileo Snape**_

---

"Harry has _two_ fathers?!" Black's voice broke on the last word.

"Black magic. Filthy stuff," Moody muttered.

"Severus, how is this possible?" Albus asked gently.

"The Dark Lord knew that there was no way that we could guarantee that I," he swallowed thickly, "would be the one to bed Lily during her fertile time. He was fascinated with the mating habits of certain snakes, and developed a spell to recreate the effects of these habits in humans. Some female snakes will mate with a dozen or more male snakes over a few days. They store the seed inside of themselves for time, during which the sperm will attempt to kill off their competitors. Voldemort used this spell so that Lily's body would retain…"

"I think we understand, Severus," Albus said softly. Severus poured himself more tea and sipped the still scalding liquid, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes, absurdly grateful that he had been spared this small indignity.

Severus nodded. "Thank you, Albus. I believe that somehow, this spell instead served to fuse our seed, creating a child from all of our genetic material."

"Truly remarkable," Albus murmured.

"Remarkable?!" Black screamed. "REMARKABLE! This _abomination_…"

Lupin shoved the ranting Black back into his seat. "Shut up, Sirius."

"Still doesn't explain why Voldemort offed Lily," Moody griped.

"He didn't know."

---

_Severus spooned some of the potion into a vial. It was labeled 'Calming Potion' but it would do; this little deviation from his usual protocol certainly wouldn't slip his mind. He cast a powerful (and wholly excessive, he would admit) cushioning charm on the vial and headed up to Voldemort's study._

"_Father, I…"_

"_**Petrificus Totalus**." Voldemort's power locked Severus into place. He smoothed Severus' hair, sweaty from hours spent over a hot cauldron, smiling fondly at him. "I admire your dedication to family, Severus, but I simply can't permit you to indulge this sentimentality. There will be other children. **Obliviate**."_

_Severus blinked and swayed, gripping the back of a chair to keep himself upright. "Forgive me, my Lord. I am uncertain what came over me."_

_The Dark Lord waved his apology away. "Not to worry, Snape. You are looking a bit peaked. Go get a meal and some rest. Your potions can wait until tomorrow." _

_Severus bowed deeply and left, wondering why he felt so uneasy. Walking back to his rooms, he pulled a vial of Calming Potion from his pocket. "Obviously an off batch," he murmured, studying the strange colour and texture. Opening the door to his workroom, he grimaced at the cauldron full of botched potion. He banished the lot, then headed to his rooms for some rest._

---

"He removed all of my knowledge of our family connection. Even without that knowledge, I still felt uneasy. I seized on the Life Debt I owed Potter as an excuse for my concern, and that is when I came to you, Albus." He added lemon, milk, cream, and sugar to his tea, then occupied himself stirring the now undrinkable mess. "Assuming Lord Voldemort told Potter the truth of his defeat, I assume that Lily threw herself in front of a curse meant for Harry. Perhaps mere frustration drove him to attempt to murder the child as well. He was…far from stable, towards the end."

Dumbledore appeared engrossed in one of the silvery machines on his desk. He gently flicked a wheel, sending the machine into a busy, chiming motion whose purpose entirely eluded Severus.

"Well?" Black demanded impatiently.

"I can see only one option before us, for now. Severus, when Voldemort calls you and his Death Eaters," Severus always appreciated the way Albus never referred to him as a Death Eater, "You must attempt to ascertain Harry's condition. I doubt that Voldemort would harm his Heir, so Harry is safe enough for now."

Black spluttered and fumed. The werewolf looked even older than normal. Moody merely nodded.

* * *

Author's Note: Lily's Origins: One reader commented that that part was confusing. Voldemort was Lily's birth father. Her birth mother was Katerina Montclair. Katerina left Lily with Susan Evans (her Squib cousin) and Susan's husband. Then Katerina went into hiding, and eventually killed herself to escape the Death Eaters. That is why the blood wards worked; Harry is related to Petunia and Dudley, but only distantly.

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	5. Tea with the Dark Lord

Edited and reposted 11/17/06. The first section is new. Minor proofreading to the rest.

* * *

Their new child wiggled and flailed in a most annoying fashion. The _potential_ was there, the rarity that marked this boy as _theirs_. But it was shielded, the boy's magic struggling to cover it, to bar them from connecting. 

They petted him gently, trying to sooth away the fear. Finally, his consciousness flickered out, and with it the resistance. Eagerly they rushed into him, saturating his body and magic with their own power and essence. Freed of the conscious will's loathing, the magic reached for them just as eagerly. Immense power, sadly underdeveloped and nearly crippled by self-doubt, began its long-denied birth.

The physical shell had suffered even more than the magic. It was damaged and fragile, and showed evidence extensive subconscious magical repair. Ever-so-gently, they began the slow process of restoration and improvement.

Once he had been remade in their image, he would love them, and they would be whole.

---

Voldemort frowned into the pool. The surface remained smooth as glass while the serpents below had Harry swaddled in a maelstrom. Occasionally the churning mass would reveal a limp hand or leg, but the boy had remained mostly out of sight for the last hour. His own Rite had only taken ten minutes. But then, he'd been a willing participant.

Finally, after more than two hours, the watery serpents stilled and melted away. A gentle current bore the limp body to the surface. Voldemort slid into the pool and caught the boy's fine-boned wrist in one hand while the other kept a firm grip on the rocky edge of the pool. He had no idea how deep the waters were, and no desire to find out. He gently lay the unconscious boy on his belly on the stone floor, and gave his back a few hard thumps. The small form gave a few wracking coughs, spewing up an impressive amount of water.

_§No snakes?§_ the boy hissed, blinking blearily up at Voldemort after examining the water he'd vomited.

_§The snakes are gone§_ Voldemort assured him. The boy struggled to his knees, panting and coughing weakly. The Dark Lord knelt and scooped his new Heir into his arms, carrying Harry to the suite he'd chosen for him. The exhausted boy faded in and out of consciousness, occasionally mumbling to himself in Parseltongue.

Voldemort laid the child on a bed made up with luxurious, softly scented bedding. The serpents had ripped his silken ritual robe to shreds in their frenzy to bond the boy to them. He cast a few charms to dry and warm him, then vanished the tattered garment. Nude, Harry's fragility was frighteningly apparent. He was underweight and heavily bruised. Had he not known the boy's birthday, he would not have credited him with twelve years, much less fifteen. Voldemort had seen the damage during the ritual bath, but now he made careful note of each wound. He would have a thorough accounting very soon.

The serpents' markings reflected in the light. Voldemort counted over a dozen of the markings, more than he himself had been blessed with. While his were like polished steel, Harry's were pale, and glinted like mother-of-pearl. They were barely visible unless the light hit them just right, and then it appeared that a dozen tiny serpents were winding over the boy's body. He touched the marking on the boy's shoulder, gently stroking it with just his forefinger, feeling the almost imperceptible texture of scales. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away and tucked the boy in snugly, then left the room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Harry slowly returned to awareness, coaxed from sleep by warm, savory smells. His stomach cramped in painful hunger. Memory flooded back, and he bolted upright, scanning the room for danger. The room reminded him of Hogwarts, though it lacked that shabbiness that centuries of hard use by rambunctious students had given the school. With some relief he spotted a dressing gown draped over the foot of his enormous bed. He scrambled into it and set about exploring his surroundings, ignoring the tempting smells from the domed tray and his complaining stomach. 

Apparently, Harry's 'host' was planning on a long-term guest. Harry's suite contained a bathroom, a breakfast nook, a study area, and a dressing room. The only thing it lacked was an exit. Harry lifted the silver dome from the tray. The meal was small, but after his summer with the Dursleys and Dudley's diet, it was wonderful. Harry devoured the soup, bread, and steamed vegetables with unseemly haste. Though the meal had been small, he felt uncomfortably full. Considering that he usually ate himself sick at Hogwarts' welcoming feasts, he supposed that Voldemort was being eerily considerate of his health.

He rose and restlessly roamed through the suite a second time. All of his things had been neatly put away, with a few exceptions. His broom, wand, and invisibility cloak were missing, as well as all of his clothing. Resignedly, he opened the oaken doors of the wardrobe, eyeing the clothing inside suspiciously. The garments were all very traditional wizarding robes, including strange undergarments made of some filmy material. He finally found a relatively simple set in black with silver embroidering along the hems. Rather than a robe over trousers like the Hogwarts uniform, these robes form fitting around his torso and flowing around his legs. Harry grimaced as he fastened the silver buttons. _§I look like a damn girl,§ _he griped, then blinked at the sibilant sounds.

Harry took a deep breath and tried again. _§Hello?§_ More Parseltongue. He clapped both hands over his mouth, staring at his reflection in horror.

Harry started violently when someone tapped softly on the door. _§Harry?§_ Voldemort's voice made him shudder.

_§Go away! §_ he hissed back, his voice shrill and panicked.

_§You may come out and act in a civilized manner, or I will come in.§_

Harry dithered for a few moments, then finally squared his shoulders and opened the door. Voldemort gestured him towards the small table, which now held a silver tea service. Scowling, Harry seated himself. Voldemort poured himself a cup of tea, added a squeeze of lemon, and sipped. Arms crossed, Harry refused to touch any of it.

_§How are you feeling?§_ Voldemort asked.

_§Stop it! Stop hissing at me! Talk like a damn human being!§_ Harry snarled, noting vaguely that he sounded a bit like a overheated tea kettle.

Voldemort gave him an amused look. "You won't like it," he said. The sounds of human language grated unpleasantly on Harry's ears. It was nearly as bad as the noise from that damn golden egg. He gritted his teeth, clenching fistfuls of robe to keep his hands from covering his ears.

_§I know it is troubling. But it will pass. It is a side affect of the Rite.§_

_§What did you do to me?§_ Harry demanded.

_§I have made you Heir to the House of Slytherin.§_

_§I thought **you** were the Heir.§ _

_§I was. In order to become Lord Slytherin, I needed an Heir of my own.§_

_§What the Hell? You can't just…just make people your Heir just like that!§_

Voldemort looked at him sternly. _§You are understandably distraught. However, I refuse to converse with you if you continue bellowing at me.§_

_§Fine.§_ Harry muttered, glaring defiantly.

_§To make a long and very involved story short, your mother was my daughter.§_

Harry leapt to his feet. _§Don't you talk about my mother, you snake-faced son of a bitch!§_

Voldemort set down his teacup. _§Sit down, Harry.§_

_§NO! I refuse to- §_ Harry's diatribe was cut short as a surge of power forced him bodily back into his seat. He opened his mouth to shriek his outrage, but no sound emerged.

_§Since you cannot behave like an adult, you will sit and listen.§_ Voldemort picked up his teacup and took a sip. _§I already had plans for conquest by the time I left Hogwarts. I knew that assuming the Lordship of House Slytherin would be vital to these plans. To do so, I needed an Heir.§_ The Dark Lord sipped from his cup again. _§Since you asked so politely,§_ he said, giving Harry a pointed look, _§I will explain further. The founders of our line valued the continuance of the family very highly. Thus, no Heir can assume the Lordship until he has produced or selected an Heir of his own.§ _

Harry's mouth worked angrily at the word 'our', but Voldemort ignored him. _§Unfortunately, during the building of my powerbase, I made quite a few enemies, and even more dubious allies. Consequently, any potential Heir would be in grave danger. Those who opposed me or merely coveted my power had a vested interest in insuring that I would not be able to assume the Lordship. Thus, I fathered your mother with a powerful, intelligent witch. She, however, became a bit…skittish, and fled, hiding your mother with a very distant Squib relative.§ _Voldemort's expression grew distant for a moment_. §Lilith had been attending Hogwarts for three years before I finally identified her. I had not expected her to be hidden so close to home. She was brilliant and powerful, all I had hoped for. But stubborn.§_ He sighed. _§Her death was a mistake I greatly regret.§_

'Her _murder_, you scaly bastard!' Harry fumed, but the spell kept him quiet. Voldemort seemed oblivious to his angrily working mouth and grimacing face.

_§When you confronted me over the Stone, I realized that you had potential to be my Heir. Your second year and the revelation of your gift of Parseltongue convinced me.§_ Voldemort stirred his tea. _§I am going to release your voice. If you do not behave in a civilized manner, this discussion is over.§_

Harry forced himself to take a few calming breaths before he replied. _§Why did you try to kill me in the Tournament, then?§_

_§Really, child. If I were going to kill you, I certainly would not have wasted my time with a year-long scheme so fraught with opportunities for missteps. No, I merely needed your presence and blood to complete my Resurrection.§_

_§But…you…you tried to kill me!§_

Voldemort merely looked at him. _§You are not as foolish as you appear to be. Apply some of that cleverness. Back to the matter at hand. You are currently limited to Parseltongue as a side affect of your bonding with the Patrons of our line. As the bond settles, you will once more be comfortable with human language. You may find an appreciation for Parseltongue, however. Some of our ancestors even composed literature in the language of snakes.§_

_§So all the Heirs and Lords have to be Parselmouths?§_ Harry asked, fascinated despite himself.

_§Not necessarily. To be an Heir, and, eventually, a Lord, one must be capable of a bond with our Patrons. Some have merely had a sort of empathy with the serpents. Others were natural snake-Animagi, able to assume the form with little or no instruction. Parseltongue is the rarest of these gifts, and the most potent.§_ Voldemort sounded smug.

_§Oh,§_ Harry said, for lack of anything else. He wondered if that were true, or just Voldemort's arrogance talking.

_§Enough of that for now. You will probably need several days to recover from the Rite. I suggest you work on your summer assignments, and do not overtax yourself.§_

_§You want me to do **homework**?§_ Harry demanded incredulously. Homework did not figure into this situation at all.

_§Knowledge is power, Harry.§_ Voldemort rose, moving with eerie grace to a door that materialized in the wall. Harry thrashed against the magical bonds, trying to will the door to remain in place. When he was finally freed, he snarled and kicked the now featureless wall.

* * *

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	6. The Death Eaters Meet

Edited and reposted 11/17/06. The first paragraph is mostly new. I only made a few minor corrections to the rest.

* * *

Severus sipped at his brandy, attempting to appear at ease. Harry, unbeknownst to all but a handful of people, had been missing for three days. The walls of Voldemort's powerful Obliviation continued to crumble, revealing snippets of memory to Severus at oft-inopportune times. Now that he was aware of it, he had spent hours in deep meditation examining the damage done to his mind. Severus could only conjecture what exactly had broken those barriers. While only a gifted amateur in the ways of the Obliviator, Voldemort was very skilled in other mind arts. The memory loss had been strengthened by powerful compulsions. Four years of close contact with the boy—_my **son**_—had undermined these. The Rite itself was a powerful affirmation of family, and that may have provided enough power to reconnect those portions of his memory isolated by the Dark Lord's spell.

_Or maybe it was Fate_, he thought grumpily.

His own 'old crowd' waited expectantly. They were currently enjoying the hospitality of Malfoy Manor, idly debating what would happen now that their lord was truly Lord Slytherin. They were expecting their master's summons at any moment. Many of them, especially new recruits, had acquired rich gifts that they hoped would please their Lord and his new Heir. Snape shook his head, feeling a distant pity. The Dark Lord had little use for such fripperies. If it could be purchased in Diagon Alley, he was not interested. Rare manuscripts and powerful magical objects were more to his taste. However, it was the talent and power of his followers that he had always valued most. The Death Eaters were one of the purest forms of meritocracy. The Dark Lord's favor could not be bought. He would not appreciate these sycophants cheapening his rebirth and the selection of his Heir with their filthy lucre.

After several interminable-seeming games of chess, they were finally Called. It had always felt like a slightly painful buzz. Now it thrummed through his body like a struck gong, resonating through his bones. The Death Eaters stared at each other, eyes wide as they slowly rose. The hopeful initiates leapt to their feet, straightening their garments and gathering their gifts. Severus steeled himself, and Apparated.

He straightened from the awkward crouch he'd landed in, scanning the cavernous room they'd been summoned to. The floor seemed to be made of a single enormous sheet of obsidian. Jade and silver columns twined upwards, winding together like vines.

"Greetings, my faithful, both old and new. My Heir has been acknowledged, and I am fully Lord Slytherin." The gathered Death Eaters turned towards Voldemort. He paced slowly towards them, much improved from the day of his rebirth. A black robe of some filmy material swirled about him. His incongruously bare feet padded across the floor. Severus idly noted that his shoes would have to be custom made, since no ordinary cobbler would stock anything that would fit him. The man now stood nearly seven feet tall. Though still thin, his arms appeared firmly muscled, rather than skeletal. He moved with a fluid, inhuman grace, pacing around the knot of anxious Death Eaters.

While Voldemort's announcement had been necessary for his dimmer followers, many of them could sense his new status, thanks to the aura of the house itself. When Severus had visited in the past, the ancient house's power had crouched protectively over its Heir. Now, the power was poised to obey its Lord. Severus scanned the room, disappointed when he saw no sign of Harry.

Voldemort moved among them, an albino serpent among a flock of vultures. They shifted restlessly, but none were foolish enough to attempt to evade his touch or his gaze. Satisfied, he gestured to a blank wall. "Let us adjourn to a more comfortable setting." Tall double doors appeared in the wall as the ancient magic obeyed its master. Voldemort paced smoothly towards the doors, his followers trailing behind him. The room contained a table wide enough to easily seat four at each end, and long enough to seat fifty down each side. It was made of a beautiful honey-colored wood, and had seemingly grown out of the floor itself. Over a dozen enormous tapestries covered the walls, showing scenes from the history of wizarding Britain.

Voldemort sat in a chair at the head of the table, leaving the other empty. A name in glowing letters hovered above each chair, vanishing when the one named sat. Severus noted with interest how far down Pettigrew sat. The pudgy man was wearing a petulant expression, obviously feeling slighted. Severus sat next to the empty chair, and Geoffrey Goyle sat on his right. Lucius Malfoy sat across from Severus.

"My lord," one of the new recruits said unctuously, standing and bowing, "Some of us have brought gifts to honor you and your heir," he said, casting a vaguely disdainful glance at those who were seemingly unprepared. He was surrounded by a handful of other new recruits, each holding a gift. Some were elegantly wrapped (in green and silver, of course), and others were in unadorned containers.

"Of course," the Dark Lord said. "He will join us shortly." Ignoring his followers' intent looks and burning curiosity, he continued with his deceptively idle conversation. Severus made polite conversation with Goyle, most of his attention on the Dark Lord's words, listening as the eerie man made subtle threats and gathered seemingly insignificant crumbs of information.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord paused in his conversation, his attention focused on the door. "Welcome, my Heir," he said, his soft voice carrying easily. All speaking ceased as everyone focused on the nervous boy glaring with a strange mixture of trepidation and defiance. Gasps of surprise and shocked declarations filled the room.

"Who is that?"

"_That's_ the Heir?"

"Is that…Harry Potter?!"

"The Boy-Who-Lived…"

Voldemort remained silent, observing his followers, especially those foolish enough to actually voice their disapproval. Lucius, consummate politician that he was, blinked once in surprise, then resumed his normal polite, faintly smug impression. Pettigrew actually mewled, shrinking down his seat.

The Death Eaters quickly settled back into attentive silence—though Severus knew that some had already earned punishment. The experienced Death Eaters and a handful of the sharpest of the new recruits restrained themselves after their initial reaction of surprise. Others goggled at the slight figure scowling at them. A few watched the boy with hostile or contemptuous expressions.

Potter squared his shoulders and marched through the room, plopping himself down next to the Dark Lord. Severus allowed himself a sigh of relief. The boy was unharmed, both physically and mentally. He was richly dressed. His robe was made of a strangely luminous black fabric—lunar moth silk, Severus thought—and embroidered with silver and green at the neck, hem, and cuffs. He was bedecked with platinum and emerald jewelry—a heavy cuff bracelet on his right wrist, a ring on each hand, and a torque of ancient make around his neck.

The boy was obviously irked. He swept his gaze down the table, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Pettigrew. The balding man sunk even further down into his seat as that burning gaze fastened on to him. Severus' eyes widened as he felt the boy's power spike for a moment before settling back into sullen quiet. Voldemort caught his eyes, his smile dark and gloating. Malfoy raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, obviously adding this to the multitude of other factors he was currently weighing. Goyle just huffed, rubbing the back of his neck and searching the room for the cause of his sudden unease.

"My followers have brought gifts to celebrate your new status as my acknowledged Heir." Harry scowled. Severus wondered how the Dark Lord had managed to get him to join this little 'party', much less wearing those clothes. _Blackmail, perhaps_, he mused.

"Fine," the boy said irritably. The young man who had mentioned gifts (Francois Gillette, Severus remembered) nodded to one of his friends, who stood and carried a small wooden chest down the table, swallowing nervously as he offered it to Lord Voldemort. "I hope this pleases you, my lords," he said, bobbing his head to each of them. Voldemort opened the chest, withdrawing several ingots of bluish metal. It was a surprisingly good choice for a new recruit, Severus thought. Though not extravagant, cellium alloy was hard to refine and useful in a number of applications. From Gillette's smug expression, he obviously thought his gift far superior. _Attempting to set the stage, lad? You're a bit young to try such grandstanding here._

"Most useful, Bernado. Our thanks." Harry muttered his own thank you.

Over an hour passed. Severus made note of names and what each had brought. Most of the experienced Death Eaters gave only a token; enough to show respect, yet knowing that their real gift was their service and loyalty. Severus himself had brought two vials of a healing potion strong enough to regenerate a ruined limb or organ. The only more potent healing agents were unicorn blood and phoenix tears.

"How many potions masters in the world are capable of brewing this, Snape?" Voldemort asked, gently setting the vials aside.

"Perhaps six, my lord," Severus said. Modesty was not a virtue admired by Death Eaters, or Slytherins in general.

Other gifts included potions ingredients, jewelry, a basket of expertly shrunk Muggle heads ("An excellent conversation piece, my lord! My Aunt Clara made them!" the giver exclaimed) and a five by ten foot magical painting of a variety of snakes, magical and mundane, strangling, biting, and eating badgers, lions, and eagles. The hideous thing had probably cost a small fortune.

Lucius presented the Dark Lord with a bolt of Acromantula silk fabric. The grayish, rough-textured fabric was as tough as chainmail and spell resistant. It was also very expensive and illegal to import because, improperly treated, it could carry several highly infectious diseases.

"Just a small token of my great esteem and respect, my lord," Gillette proclaimed, dramatically presenting the Dark Lord with a long box. The box, though scuffed and obviously quite old, was itself worth a fortune. It was made of African Brightwing hide, unavailable for at least a century, and exorbitantly expensive even then. It was capable of deflecting every spell but the Killing Curse itself.

Voldemort ran reverent fingers over the case, then gently opened it. Inside lay a violin. It had that beauty that ancient, well-loved objects sometimes have. "Siren hair," he murmured, gently touching one of the strings. Awed murmurs filled the room as Death Eaters craned their necks for a better glimpse of the instrument. Even Harry was looking, his sullen mood forgotten for the moment. Tiny feathers, smaller than a fingernail, wound in a whimsical trail over the belly of the violin. Miniscule phoenix feathers caught the light and glowed like embers. These were interspersed with more ordinary yellow feathers. The pegs and bridge were made of some sort of bone Severus didn't recognize.

Gillette managed to sound both pedantic and obsequious as he rattled on about the instrument. "Giovanni Stradivarius was close friend of my ancestor Michel Gillette. The components were gathered over many years from every continent on Earth. The feathers of the Phoenix and the Uirapuru, a bird who sings only once a year and whose song is so beautiful that it brings a lifetime of good luck to those blessed to hear it. The hair of the siren and the bones of the Swan as it sang its death song. Wood from the famed Singing Tree of Arabia. This, my Lord, is the treasure of my house. I place it in your hands, trusting that you will share it only with those who are truly worthy." The young man gave a deep, sweeping bow, and paced back to his seat, head high, gaze steady, and his expression noble. The younger members seemed very impressed. The older ones had seen his ilk before. Lucius threw Gillette a look of deep contempt before smoothing his expression.

Voldemort gently replaced the violin and closed the case. "Rest assure, Mister Gillette, that your family's treasure now rests in capable hands." Gillette nodded regally, oblivious the subtle insult. Harry looked up from the case, obviously trying to dissect the double meaning. "Harry, return to your chambers. We have business to discuss." Harry looked angry for a moment, then rose and left. He walked stiffly, obviously aware of the gazes locked on him as he left the room.

* * *

Author's Note: About the violin: All of the parts come from 'real' mythical things and creatures. Members of the Stradivarius family were well known violinmakers for centuries. Antonio Stradivarius was the most famous of these. I made up Giovanni Stradivarius, a magical violinmaker. Check my profile for a link to a Wikipedia entry about Stradivarius if you are interested.

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	7. Small Talk and Bargains

Edited and reposted 11/17/06. Only minor editing.

* * *

The room remained silent for several moments after Harry had left. Voldemort leaned back comfortably in his chair, fingers steepled, observing them.

Finally, Lucius Malfoy's soft voice broke the tense silent. "He will be magnificent, my Lord. Congratulations." Voldemort languidly gestured for him to continue. "Youngest Seeker in a century, Parselmouth…I'm sure you're aware, my Lord, that he learned to cast a fully corporeal Patronus last year? Powerful, and quite clever."

"He's rather brash, isn't he, my Lord," Pettigrew ventured. "He dared to duel with you!"

No one dared to breathe as Voldemort fixed his cold red eyes on the pudgy man. Pettigrew huddled down into his seat. Had the Dark Lord not held him captive with his gaze, Severus thought Pettigrew might well have crawled under the table.

"He—he bumbled his way through the Tournament. If it hadn't been for Crouch, he'd have died in the first task!"

Had Severus felt anything other than utmost contempt for the man, he'd have prayed for him to shut up.

"He barely passes his classes! If it weren't for that Mudblood Granger, he'd be failing!" Pettigrew's voice was becoming shrill as he tried to justify himself.

Voldemort continued to silently stare until Pettigrew, trembling uncontrollably, finally fell silent. Voldemort turned his attention back to Lucius, completely ignoring the pasty-faced man. Pettigrew looking anything but relieved; delayed punishments were exponentially worse than those the Dark Lord dealt immediately.

Lucius, of course, picked up smoothly, "His Muggle upbringing may present some difficulties, my Lord. I could recommend several tutors to instruct him in matters of deportment and etiquette. A few companions of appropriate character and upbringing might also prove beneficial." Most of the Deatheaters murmured their agreement. Several even threw Lucius grateful looks, glad to have Voldemort's potential ire averted. _So very shortsighted_, Severus mused. _Your silence makes him look all the better, and does you no favors_. "My son Draco is his age. I am certain that their association could only be beneficial to young Potter." A few of the Deatheaters looked vaguely disgruntled or envious, only now realizing Malfoy's goal and the benefits he could reap.

Beside him, Goyle stirred and replied, "My boy tells me that those two can barely sit through a class without scrapping." The beefy man grimaced. "In fact, the Potter kid doesn't get along with anybody in Slytherin. Carmichael, isn't your boy their age?"

Carmichael, a bony man from a long line of Ravenclaws, answered, "I believe that Edward is a year ahead of Harry." The man paused momentarily, weighing his next words. "If Harry is indeed having difficulties in some of his courses, Edward would be happy to help. He has already aided several of his schoolmates in that capacity."

Voldemort tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "I will think on it. Malfoy, bring me that list of recommended tutors." He rose to his feet, the rest of the Death Eaters following suit. Goyle's chair fell backwards with a loud noise. The man righted it, mumbling apologies. Voldemort looked over the assembly one last time, then said, "I have business I must attend. Please, enjoy my hospitality." The Dark Lord glided from the room. A dozen of the strange, reptilian house-elves that served the Slytherin Family moved soundlessly through the room, carefully setting wine, tea, and light refreshments along the length of the table. Severus lifted the crystal carafe and filled his goblet, then poured for Malfoy and Goyle. They had learned not to expect such personal service from the Slytherin house-elves. They were fanatically loyal to their family, but lacking the servility ingrained in most other house-elves.

Malfoy gently swirled the wine is his glass, seemingly intently observing its color and texture. Goyle drained his, and poured himself a second. "Bit of a disappointment, wasn't it? I'd imagined a bit more…" he gestured vaguely around the grand room.

"You disapprove of our Lord's choice, Geoffrey?" Lucius said, his voice deceptively mild.

Goyle shrugged, oblivious to Malfoy's delicate attempts to trap him. "His Heir, his choice. Like you said, the kid's pretty powerful. And he had the stones to stand and face our Lord. Can't teach that. Just thought there'd be a little more pomp." Severus enjoyed the flicker of frustration in Malfoy's eyes. Somehow, despite his seeming dimness, Goyle's stoic and steadfast loyalty remained immune to Lucius' little games.

Lowering his voice, Severus nodded minutely to the far end of the table. "What do you think of the new blood?"

Lucius' lips thinned. "That Gillette just traded an artifact treasured by his family for generations for a moment of our Lord's attention. His father…" he shook his head.

Goyle nodded. "Seemed a bit much. Hey, maybe the kid plays?"

Severus shook his head, "Not to my knowledge. Though perhaps the Dark Lord will have him taught."

Lucius glanced at Pettigrew, then said softly, "Gillette is not the only one whose star will fade more quickly than he'd hoped." Indeed, Pettigrew was staring down into his wine. He was deathly pale, his fingers twitching spasmodically. No one spoke to him, and those unlucky enough to be seated near him had moved their chairs as far from him as possible.

Goyle shook his head, "Wouldn't be him for all the gold in Gringotts." The man's voice carried, and Pettigrew looked up. Lucius sent him a malevolent smirk. _Social sadist_, Severus reflected. Pettigrew cringed away from their regard, gulping down his wine. He hoped Voldemort was keeping Harry well guarded. Voldemort's regard could prove as deadly as his enmity.

* * *

---Six hours earlier---

Harry stared at the elaborate black robe and jewelry that had been laid out for him. He scowled at Voldemort, mentally girding himself for a fight. "I'm not wearing that."

"I will present you as my Heir tonight. You will dress appropriately."

"No way in hell."

"A far more Slytherin response would be 'What's in it for me?'"

Harry rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll play your game. What's in it for me? Not that I really care."

"I'm sure your Godfather would be touched by your devotion."

Harry's fists clenched. "What's that supposed to mean?" He knew he was being drawn into Voldemort's little power play. But for Sirius, he would bargain.

Voldemort's voice filled the room. "He's a fugitive, Harry. Any day, at any moment, he could be scooped up by some random Auror. He could be Kissed before Dumbledore and his merry men even realized he was in danger."

"Dumbledore will take care of him." Harry firmed his jaw and stared at the Dark Lord.

"Yes…he takes such good care of his charges, doesn't he?" Harry glanced away, cheeks reddening. "Really, Harry, such faith in his omnipotence. If he can't keep children safe in Hogwarts, what makes you think he can protect a fugitive on the run?"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, thinking quickly. He couldn't let Voldemort draw him into a pointless argument. "I'll dress up and go to this little thing of yours, if you hand Wormtail over to the Ministry."

Voldemort looked pleased, his red eyes glittering. "Now, Harry, what sort of bargain is that? I lose a devoted and gifted follower and gain only a single night of your cooperation?"

Harry knew that Sirius wouldn't want him to make promises he'd regret later. "One night of cooperation, and you make Pettigrew let himself be seen by Amelia Bones. And," he added quickly, "if Sirius does get arrested, you make sure he gets out. Fast."

_My Heir is certainly coming along nicely_, Voldemort reflected smugly. _I allow him this victory. Positive reinforcement, and all that._ He nodded, careful to keep his expression grave. "Agreed, Harry. You will dress and behave appropriately tonight, and I shall order Pettigrew to show himself to Madam Bones. And should the worst occur, I shall see to your godfather's swift release."

Harry bit his lip, but nodded. _It's not costing me anything_, he reminded himself. _Not really._

_

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	8. Fathers and Sons

Disclaimer: No, I haven't won the biggest lottery in history, so I haven't bought Harry Potter.

The evening gradually drew to a close. The gathered Death Eaters were escorted to the troll-sized fireplaces and sent on their way. Severus glanced down, feeling a tug on his robe. The house-elf gestured for him to follow. Severus was escorted to Lord Voldemort's office. The small, scaled being held the door open for Severus, then closed it behind him.

A delicious smelling cream tea waited on a floating tray. Severus assumed the food was for him, since the Dark Lord never ate and only rarely drank since his resurrection.

"Help yourself, Severus," Voldemort said absently, sifting though a pile of documents. Severus obediently poured himself some tea, ignoring the food for now. Under the distraction of sugaring his tea, he tipped a miniscule amount of a special powder into the cup. The powder would neutralize most potions, and reacted visibly with those it couldn't. The tea remained unchanged.

Sipping his tea, Severus noted the incongruity of Muggle file folders and sheets of white, crisp Muggle paper mixed in with scrolls and scraps of Wizarding parchment.

"The boy's files, both Muggle and magical," Voldemort explained. No need to clarify which boy.

"That is interesting, my Lord," Severus said, his tone politely attentive.

"He was a barely adequate student, and suffered frequent absences because of poor health." Something in Voldemort's tone made his skin crawl. Danger rode the air.

"His spectacles were provided by charitable program thanks to the recommendation of one of his teachers, a Ms. Kelly," the Dark Lord said, opening one of the folders. "She also filed several petitions with the Child Welfare Department on Harry's behalf, none of which were ever addressed. She cites evidence of 'neglect, and possible physical abuse'. She appears quite dedicated. I wonder why her pleas went unanswered?" Voldemort's gaze turned to Severus. Severus forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to quiet the anger churning in his stomach.

"I hired a Muggle investigator to examine the Dursley family. After spending the summer observing them, he also concluded that nephew was a victim of abuse. When he was not doing chores, including gardening, cleaning, and cooking, he was locked in his room. The man frequently observed him being bullied and beaten by his uncle and his cousin, one Dudley Dursley." Voldemort's red eyes bored into his. Severus was nearly shaking in fury. _My son, those filthy Muggles harmed my son!_

"_Your_ son, Severus?" Voldemort murmured, one corner of his mouth quirked triumphantly. "When were you planning on sharing this? Such reticence makes me question your loyalty."

Severus surged to his feet and flung the delicate cup to floor. Voldemort looked surprised as tea and shards of china sprayed the hem of his robes. "_My_ loyalty! I came to you, _Father_," he spat venomously, "to share the results of the Heritage Potion, only to be Obliviated before I could even speak! Because of _your_ arrogance and scheming, my son was raised by Muggles who hated him. Even near-blinded by pain and frustration every time I saw him, thanks to your Obliviation, it was obvious he was undersized and strangely skittish for a Gryffindor." He sucked air through his clenched teeth, feeling grimly satisfied at the shocked look on the Dark Lord's face. "I went to Dumbledore, of course. 'There is no where else, Severus,' he told me. 'Not even the wards of Hogwarts compare to the blood protection. His safety is more important than his happiness.' I was only his Professor, not even his Head of House. I had no standing or grounds on which to protest."

Severus fixed his gaze on the cheery fire in the small hearth, regaining his composure. "My son, your precious _Heir_, knows more of the duties of a House-Elf than of his own heritage. You stole my son from me. You—," Severus struggled for words, finally giving up with a sharp gesture. "I have duties I must attend." He turned sharply on his heel.

"Forgive me," a soft voice murmured behind him. Severus whirled to face him. "_Mea culpa_, my son. You are right. I can offer nothing to replace the years I have cost you and Harry. But he is here now, with us. I will do all in my power to assure his safety _and_ his happiness."

Severus swallowed and nodded jerkily. "Forgive my outburst, my Lord," he said dully.

"I see I will have to re-earn your trust. I cannot blame you for that," Voldemort sighed. "Go, Severus. See to Harry. He will have endless questions, now that his introduction is over. I'll leave them to you." Severus bowed and strode from the room. Voldemort hissed a few soft words to the House-Elf guarding the door. The mutated creature bobbed a bow and scampered down the hall, Severus following. They took a long, winding route through the castle. _No Death Eaters will look for the Heir so far from the Dark Lord's immediate vicinity, and I expect this place has alternative routes for its Lord_, he thought.

The House-Elf stopped before a blank stretch of wall in a dingy, poorly lit hallway. It hissed a few words in snake-language, and a door blurred into existence.

"What the—let me go! You slimy piece of snake shit…oh. Er…hi, Professor?" Harry's enraged shouts dwindled. The boy looked sheepish. "Give me a second. As soon as the damn door's gone—there!" Harry lifted and wiggled each foot in turn. "Every time the stupid door finally appears, I get either frozen or glued to the floor." The boy was wearing a long green nightshirt. The jewelry and robe he had worn that evening were tossed in a careless pile in a comfortable-looking chair.

"Care to have a seat?" Severus nodded and seated himself at the small table. He tried to lift the teapot to pour himself a cup, but found it immovable.

"Yeah, annoying, isn't it? Voldy did that after I threw it at him." The boy tapped the pot with his cup, and tea leapt from the spout, filling the cup. Severus followed suit, studying Harry closely. The boy's shadowed eyes and trembling hands belied his chipper attitude.

He sipped his tea, recognizing a blend intended to promote restful sleep. "Harry, please tell me what has happened." He kept his voice soothing, hoping to augment the tea's calming effects.

"Well, Voldemort came to my Aunt's house. He was Polyjuiced to look like a regular guy. I guess he told Aunt Petunia he had car trouble—she told me to help him with his car. When I was coming down the stairs, his eyes changed from brown to red. I figured it was somebody magically disguised, so I ran for my wand. He petrified me and threw Hedwig out the window! Is she okay, sir?"

"Your owl is fine, Harry. She is currently being pampered by Hagrid."

"Thank Merlin. Anyways," Severus winced internally at the terrible grammar, "he brought me back here and bathed me in really hot water. It smelled strange, sort of spicy." Harry reddened, obviously uncomfortable remembering the incident. "He dressed me in a weird silk robe, and carried me down some stairs. I counted almost 500 steps, but it was a while before I thought to start counting. There was this big pond full of water. The water turned into snakes, if that makes sense. It was creepy. He said something about a Rite…and blood and voice, I think. Then he threw me in. I thought I was drowning…and I woke up in here." Severus nodded attentively, sifting through the somewhat garbled recitation. Harry fidgeted restlessly, and finally said, "Sir, what's going to happen? Are you going to take me back to Hogwarts?" His voice was small and hopeful. Without the brave Gryffindor front, Severus was again struck by how small Harry was.

"I can't, Harry, not yet," he said gently, hating to watch the boy's face fall. "Has the Dark Lord explained what being the Heir of Slytherin means?" he asked, hoping to distract the boy.

"Not really, except he needed an heir to become Lord Slytherin…whatever that means," he said, sounding grumpy.

"In part, it means that he is obligated to protect you. Should he knowingly harm you, or allow you to be harmed, then the magical force that has acknowledged him as Lord Slytherin would retaliate. Also, failure to properly guard and raise his Heir would be spitting in the face of his heritage, which he holds sacred," Severus explained. Harry looked relieved.

"However," Severus added, holding up a finger for emphasis, "I would strongly recommend you avoid provoking him. No more throwing of teapots or other crockery. Or anything else, for that matter." A familiar mutinous expression crossed the boy's face. "Harry, this is important. If you continue to defy him, he may choose to keep you here rather than permitting your return to Hogwarts."

"You think he'll let me go back to school?" The boy's voice was full of longing.

"I think it is a strong possibility." Severus actually had no idea of the Dark Lord's thoughts on the matter, but he had to offer the boy some crumb.

"He has had me doing my summer work," Harry said thoughtfully. "And he got me some extra books."

Severus spotted the study area; a well-stocked bookshelf and a large desk. He rose and walked to the desk, Harry following closely behind him, like a lonely puppy. Reaching for a book, he spotted a corner of parchment peeking from a closed drawer. Acting on instinct, he opened the drawer. It was full wadded parchment.

"What are you doing?" Harry's voice was slightly panicked. He grabbed at the sheet of parchment Severus was opening. Only Severus' superior height and reach allowed him to evade the boy's seeker-fast reflexes. He frowned. The page appeared to be full on nothing but random squiggles and curls.

"Potter, what is this?" he asked sternly. The boy's defiance deflated, and he looked deeply shamed. "It's Parseltongue, sir," he whispered, staring at the floor.

"Parseltongue, eh?" he murmured. The characters did look quite serpentine, he realized. "I did not realize it was a written language as well as a spoken one."

"I didn't mean too, sir! After the Rite, I couldn't speak anything but Parseltongue for three days! I started my homework, and it was all in Parseltongue too! I didn't realize it until I could speak English again. I didn't…it's just…I'm sorry," Harry trailed off, scrubbing at his face.

Hastily, not feeling capable of dealing with tears, he said, "It's a gift, Harry, not a cause for shame." Severus debated on offering the boy a hug, but settled for a brief pat on the shoulder.

"Hermione said that it's a mark of a dark wizard," Harry whispered.

"Miss Granger puts too much faith in books. Common wisdom—which is rarely actually wise—says that Parseltongue is a dark gift. Serpents—magical and mundane—are no more inherently evil than any other group of creatures." Harry looked somewhat heartened, so Severus decided to let the matter lie for the moment. "I have a few biographies of the Slytherin Family you may find interesting."

"Voldemort left me a few. I didn't really know how far I could trust them, though."

"Very wise. Despite was Miss Granger thinks, the written word is not sacred." Severus examined the volumes. "This one is quite good. I have a copy myself," he said, laying _Who's Who of House Slytherin_ to one side. "_An Unabridged History of the Ancient Line of Slytherin_…rubbish, except for…" he thumbed through the book, finding the useful sections of the book already marked with velvet ribbons. Sifting through the rest of the pile, he found each book sporting a number of ribbons marking various passages. "Well, the Dark Lord isn't sugar-coating the truth for you. He's never really been one for that," he murmured, almost to himself. Harry thumbed through the books disinterestedly.

Severus skimmed the rest of the contents of the bookshelf. It contained excellent reference books on a variety of subjects, as well as the texts required by Hogwarts. He lifted a volume from the shelf. "I wasn't aware you were taking Arithmancy."

Harry grimaced. "I'm not. That's for brainy kids, like Hermione." Severus winced to hear his son so casually disparage his intelligence. "I don't know why he got me those books. Ancient Runes, too."

Severus clenched his teeth on a sharp reprimand. "They are very useful subjects, and quite interesting."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm stuck in Divination. There's no way I could catch up."

"Out of all of the subjects at Hogwarts, excepting History of Magic, these two are the easiest to learn from books. It's not uncommon for students to study these subjects on their own, and reserve their time at Hogwarts for studying areas that require more time in practical application. You do not have to take a course to sit the OWL or NEWT exams."

Harry examined the books with more interest. "Really? I didn't know that."

Severus sweetened the pot. "Both of these are often useful in conjunction with other subjects. For example, learning the Animagus transformation requires several Arithmancy calculations." Harry looked up, his eyes brightening with excitement. "If you devote yourself to your studies, the Dark Lord is more likely to send you back to Hogwarts. Studying these subjects can only benefit you. Knowledge is power."

Harry laughed. "And power corrupts. So study hard. Be evil."

Severus blinked. "Er..what?"

Harry waved vaguely. "Nothing. Muggle saying. Voldemort said the same thing to me, you know," he said, sobering. "I hate letting him have his way."

"I sympathize. However, let him win the inconsequential battles. Save your defiance for important matters."

The boy heaved a sigh. "I guess. I just don't want to get in the habit of obeying him."

"I know." Severus was frankly amazed that their civil conversation had lasted this long. Even after he had regained his memories and been able to think of Harry without being inflicted with a blinding migraine, he had thought the boy rather disrespectful and defiant. Perhaps the boy was desperate for any company that wasn't Voldemort. Whatever the reason, Severus decided to grab this chance and start building a less adversarial relationship with his son.

He drew a second chair to the large desk, and opened the Arithmancy book. "We'll just work on a few of these equations together." Harry sat, eyeing the book apprehensively. Dipping his quill, he tentatively copied the equation, and worked it out. Severus watched quietly, enjoying the way that understanding dawned. The boy's quill scribbled faster as he gained confidence. Finally, he flipped to the back of the book, and smiled when he saw that his answer was correct.

Harry sat back, obviously please with his efforts. "I got it right. That wasn't so hard." He basked in his small triumph for a few moments, then forged ahead. Three equations later, he ran into difficulties. Severus tapped one of the numbers. "You forgot to subtract. Gratham's Theorim applies here." Severus scrawled 'G.T. pg. 2' next to the equations.

Harry snatched his book away, looking irate. "You wrote in my book. You can't do that!" Severus blinked in surprise, his quill still poised. Harry blotted at the ink futilely, looked almost frightened when scrawled note remained. Severus looked at the pristine condition of Harry's textbooks, some of which he knew were at least four years old. This, more than the state of Harry's clothes or Voldemort's files, brought home the reality of his son's upbringing. Severus too had often done without new clothes, and had worked at chores 'beneath' most purebloods. But he had never lacked for books.

"Harry, these are your books. You can write in them all you like. In fact, I recommend it." Severus snagged another book from the shelf and wrote, 'Property of H.J.P.' in great, swooping letters inside the cover. Harry looked at the inscription. "But…Madam Pince…" he protested weakly.

"If you scribble in a library book, then you deserve what ever punishment she dishes out," Severus said firmly. He certainly didn't want Harry to become a book vandal. "But you may do what you like with your own books."

Severus rose to his feet. "It's late. You should get some sleep. Study hard, and think on what we've discussed." Harry nodded distractedly, still staring at his now less than pristine book. Severus gave in to temptation, briefly resting his hand on the boy's bowed head. Harry looked up, startled, and gave him a brave smile. "Yes, sir. Thanks for…for looking out for me."

* * *

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	9. Update at Hogwarts

Severus debated briefly with himself before requesting the house-elf show him to his rooms. He thought of returning to Hogwarts, but even with potions to brew and a school year to prepare for, it was a bit soon.

He scanned the suite he had not entered for more than a decade. Personal treasures and valuable books, things he'd thought had been destroyed, had been waiting here all this time. He opened the drawer of the bedside table. Tucked inside were two small photos in ornate frames. Harry's baby picture—he'd been scarcely an hour old. Severus had never seen a child so young, and had found the baby's red, slightly squashed face somewhat alarming. The child in the picture was far from calm. Instead, he squirmed, his small (rather ugly, if Severus was honest) face scrunched in a discontented expression. Severus carefully set the picture aside, and picked up the second. Lily, his half-sister, during her first year at Hogwarts. The girl nervously adjusted her Gryffindor tie, smoothed her hair, then flashed a dazzling grin.

He side, gently replacing the photos and closing the drawer. He'd spent hours looking at Lily's photo before he'd understood their relationship. He'd been convinced that his father would somehow 'give' her to him, and they'd raise their son together. _Rather naïve for a Death Eater, wasn't I?_ he sneered at himself.

Forcefully shoving the past aside, he dressed for bed. Tucked under pillows was a small sachet. He lifted it to his nose, smelling the familiar blend of lavender, chamomile, and other scents. _Herbs for sweet dreams_, he remembered. Though his mother had rarely been able to afford much beyond the basic necessities, she'd been an able gardener, and had sent him a fresh sachet every month until she'd passed away.

He gently squeezed the sachet, eyes falling half-closed as he inhaled the familiar scent. He'd make one for Harry tomorrow, he decided.

---

Severus trudged from the apparition point towards Hogwarts. He had rarely been so glad to see the old pile. It had been a long week.

The Dark Lord had kept Harry confined to his room. Harry was sharp enough to know a gilded cage when he was in one. Severus' gentle attempts at Legilemency had caught impressions of a small, dark, musty space in the boy's thoughts. Harry had spent his time alternating between pacing and kicking the walls (he had tried throwing things, but almost everything in the room was immovable) and brief periods of intense focus, immersed in his studies.

Voldemort, the cause of all this teen angst, was of course far to busy to deal with the results of his actions. So Severus had spent the last week trying to soothe the boy's frazzled nerves, or snapping at him to be still. The stress was adversely affecting the boy's sleeping and eating patterns, to the point he had gone a full 24 hours without either. Unlike most children his age, Harry was keenly aware of his own mortality.

_Gryffindors_, he reflected wearily, _are patently unsuited for enforced inaction_.

Harry's etiquette instructor had arrived, so Voldemort had instructed a guiltily relieved Severus to resume his life at Hogwarts for a few days. He eased his guilt with the thought that he was bringing important information back to the Order.

Dumbledore's door-guardian leapt aside for him, and he swept up the stairs, finding the door already open. Black was pacing back and forth, muttering under his breathe, gesturing wildly, his face lighting up when he saw Severus, which was an unnerving experience, to say the least.

"Please, come in, Severus. Tea?" Albus asked. Severus accepted a cup, more from habit than from appetite.

"How is Harry faring?" The old man asked after Severus had enjoyed a few sips of first cup of tea he'd been able to drink in peace for days.

"He's better than we'd hoped. The Dark Lord isn't attempting any sort of torture or coercion, mental or physical. He has introduced the boy to the Death Eaters, so he is reasonably safe on that score. He has provided Harry with books and instructed him to study and complete his summer assignments. This could be a ploy to placate the boy, but there is a possibility he plans on returning him to Hogwarts."

"Why in Merlin's name would he do that?" Remus asked. "What possible benefit could it hold for him?"

Sirius sighed wearily. "It wouldn't cost him anything, Remus. Not with him as Lord and Harry as Heir."

"We could keep Harry here, inside Hogwarts. Or we could take him to Grimmauld Place, or somewhere else under Fidelius."

"We could, Remus. And it wouldn't make a bit of difference. It's been tried before. It's impossible to hide Heirs from their Patrons. Especially not a Patron as powerful as Slytherin's." Black looked defeated.

"I doubt any of that is necessary. By accepting Harry as his Heir, he bound himself to protect him. He knows it would please Harry to return to Hogwarts, and as Black said, it would cost him very little. I have encouraged Harry to at least appear to cooperate." He sighed wearily. "And bringing Harry too and from Hogwarts would certainly be a potent demonstration of power."

Black nodded. "Hell, we don't even have any _legal_ right to interfere. All authority over an Heir belongs to the Lord of the family. And Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin, is certainly not a _criminal_, after all. I'm sure his record is squeaky clean," he said sarcastically.

Albus nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. Though he was technically a pureblood, he and his family had always belonged to the middle class of the magical world. The nobility of the wizarding world enjoyed its privacy. It moved men and shaped policy behind the scenes. They did not commit their traditions and beliefs to parchment. Therefore, despite his immense personal power and knowledge, he had to rely on the very few nobles, like Severus and Sirius, who were willing to discuss their heritage in any sort of detail. And even these two, loyal as they were, were reticent. He sighed and shook his head. It hadn't even occurred to him that Tom could become young Harry's legal guardian, as well as magical.

"Thomas Marvolo, now," Severus murmured. "He's refused to be Riddle since he killed his father and paternal grandparents." He looked pensive for a moment, then shook his head. "That's neither here nor there, for the moment. Have Amelia Bones keep a sharp eye out for Pettigrew. Harry and Voldemort struck a deal."

Severus allowed himself a moment of petty satisfaction at the sick look on Black's face. "Deal?" he said hoarsely. "What sort of deal?" Even Albus looked alarmed_. The brat would probably sell his soul to protect the mutt_, Severus reflected sourly, ignoring a feeling that closely resembled envy coiling in his gut.

"Apparently the Dark Lord wanted Harry to dress and behave appropriately at his little coming-out party, and that was the price they agreed upon."

"Very Slytherin of Harry," Lupin murmured admiringly.

"I don't want him to be Slytherin for _my_ sake, Remus!" Black raged, his face agonized.

"Gryffindor foolishness will not help him, Black. But Slytherin cunning will serve him well. As long as the Dark Lord has you to negotiate over, he may not try something more direct, like kidnapping Granger or Weasely."

"Severus is right," Albus said. "Had Harry pledged something more substantial or dangerous to him, there would be cause for alarm. As it stands, he has made an opportunity for us that we would otherwise lack. I will inform Amelia. Severus, do you have anything else to report?"

Severus listed the new Death Eaters, describing the gifts that the Dark Lord and his Heir had received.

"Damn," Black said, shaking his head. "Old man Gillette might just hang himself. You could buy Diagon Alley with that violin!"

"Indeed. I fear young Gillette has not made the impression he'd hoped," Severus agreed. "The Dark Lord has also found someone to instruct Harry in etiquette, and I believe that he will be inviting some of his follower's children to the estate in order for Harry to have 'appropriate' companions."

Albus nodded, looking a bit cheerier than he had since Harry had been taken. "We'll leave things as they are, for now. We do not want to force Voldemort's hand."

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	10. Class is in Session

Harry hated Mr. Sevilitee. He would have been quite willing to learn the Unforgivables, as long as he could practice on the loathsome little man.

In his more mature moments, Harry realized that his intense dislike of the man was probably a touch unreasonable. Though a bit too prim and proper, the man wasn't unkind. He was always polite, and often made little jokes to emphasize certain points of Harry's lessons. Nevertheless, whenever the man entered the room, Harry was struck by an overpowering urge to set him on fire.

It probably was due to the fact that the man had responded to Harry's statement that he had been kidnapped with, "Don't be silly. I'm sure you and your guardian—such a nice man!—are just having a little misunderstanding. Now, _this_ fork is only used with shellfish."

"I know it's a bit overwhelming, Harry, but when in doubt, observe and copy your host. Truly, you are a fortunate young man, to have found a place in such an illustrious family. I'm sure that you'll fit right in, once you've practiced." The man gave Harry one of his happy smiles. Though the man had seemingly memorized every obscure etiquette rule since the 17th century, Harry thought he was way too happy to be entirely right in the head.

Scowling, Harry returned his attention to the row of silverware in front of him, only to feel his legs glued to the legs of his chair. Not even bothering to struggle, he tossed the shrimp fork onto the desk and waited. A few moments later, Voldemort swept into the room and seated himself, dismissing the tutor with a nod. Harry idly wondered if Snape had learned his dramatic entrances from Voldemort.

"Mr. Sevilitee tells me you are progressing nicely."

Harry nodded warily. Voldemort _had_ to know that he had tried to get the tutor to get him out of here, or at least send a message. However, Voldemort pretended ignorance. The few times they had met over the last week, it had been over elaborate meals so Harry could practice his new manners and Voldemort could check his progress. The smug bastard flatly refused to discuss anything more important than the history of the soupspoon.

"You OWLs are coming up this year. Though I understand that your education has been…frequently disrupted, we shall make up for that now. I have arranged for a 6th year Ravenclaw to tutor you and a few other children your age."

Harry gaped._ Children? What kind of parents would send their kids to the Dark Lord's house for a study group! I know they're his minions, but still…_

Voldemort continued, what passed for warmth leaving his tone, "You will dress and behave appropriately, or you will spend the semester here, and not at Hogwarts."

Harry bit back a defiant retort and nodded. _Eye on the prize_, he reminded himself.

"Your new friends," Harry grimaced, but remained silent as Voldemort spoke, "will be arriving in two hours. Make certain you are ready."

"Yes, sir," he muttered.

Exactly two hours later, Harry was prepared. In fact, he'd been ready for well over an hour, driven by sheer boredom.

§ _Is young master being ready? _§ a small voice asked. He whirled towards the sound, only to jump back from a small, mutant house-elf…thing. It was shaped like a house-elf, but was covered in mottled green-brown scales. It was wearing a leather jerkin and small belt, from which hung a pair of sheathed knives.

§ _Young master_? § it asked again, forked tongue flickering from a mouth full of needle-like teeth. It frowned, flicking its tongue quite deliberately. _It's **smelling** me_, Harry realized. _Just like a snake_. The elf gestured at Harry's books, which floated obediently behind the elf. § _Young master does not need to be afraid. Sesphie will protect young Master_. § It reached out, gently petting his arm with one scaly hand, its strange eyes filled with adoration.

§ _Er…thanks, Sesphie_, § he said. The house-elf smiled at him, then turned towards the door that had emerged. Harry followed it, searching the hallway with curiosity. _This place is crazier than Hogwarts_, he thought. He'd only been allowed out of this room once since he'd arrived, and that had been to attend Voldemort's little Death Eater party. Then, the door to his room had been directly facing the entrance to the dining hall. This time, however, and Sesphie had emerged onto a whimsically beautiful hallway. The flagstones of the floor and walls were a pristine eggshell color, the perfect setting for the beautiful mosaics set in the walls. The mosaics were thousands of miniscule chips of stone, and precious and semi-precious gems. Each portrayed a different serpentine creature. He recognized runespoors and ashwinders from his lessons with Hagrid, and the Hydra from reading Greek myths in school. Unlike the hideous painting that one of the Death Eaters had brought, there were no scenes of death or violence.

Harry could have looked at the mosaics for hours, has Sesphie not gently prodded him along. Clearing his throat nervously, Harry commented, § _You're dressed differently from the other house-elves I've met_. §

Sesphie nodded, tail lashing behind it as it marched importantly towards their destination. § _We is being Lord Slytherin's liege-elves. Sesphie is being the young master's guard elf. Sesphie is brave and fierce!_ § It touched the pair of knives, baring its teeth at some imaginary threat. Harry nodded, trying to appear appropriately impressed.

§ _We is arrived. Young master is studying hard and using all of his smartness._ § The elf's tone was stern, and Harry quickly nodded. The door swung open and Harry entered the room, his books floating behind him.

The large windows were frosted glass, filling the room with soft, plentiful life. Six large desks had been arranged in a semi-circle facing an enormous blackboard. A tall, skinny boy with glasses was sifting through a stack of volumes.

"Er, hi," Harry said, feeling suddenly very nervous. The young man gave Harry a brief, polite smile. "Hello, Potter. I'm Eddie Carmichael. Ravenclaw, 6th year."

Harry's books settled themselves on a desk. "Well, I guess that's where I'm sitting," he said with a nervous laugh. "Who else is coming?"

"Parkinson, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, and Bulstrode." Harry grimaced. "Give them a chance, Potter. Once you get out of Hogwarts and away from all of that inter-House drama, almost anyone will be a lot less annoying."

"If you say so," Harry said dubiously. He sat at his desk, idly opening the drawers and examining the contents. Rolls of parchment, high quality quills, and several leather-bound notebooks. Opening one labeled Potions Journal, he thumbed through the pages, noting the lettered tabs. Hearing voices, he glanced up. Draco Malfoy paused in the doorway, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He eyed Harry, looking caught between smirking and turning up his nose.

_Family isn't destiny, _Harry told himself firmly. With that in mind, he gave the other boy a polite smile. "Hi, Malfoy."

Malfoy looked briefly surprised, then gave Harry a polite nod. He scanned the room and, obviously coming to an important decision, placed his books on the desk to Harry's right. "Er…is this seat taken?"

"Naw. I'll just tell my imaginary friend to move." Draco laughed weakly and sat down.

The two boys sat in an uncomfortable silence, watching as Carmichael continued to flip through books and make notes on a long scroll.

"So, Potter…my father says he expects me to make nice."

"Really?"

"Actually, he said, 'Draco, you are being blessed with a second and _last_ opportunity to rectify your abominable first impression on Mr. Potter. I shall be very displeased if you waste it.'" Draco said in a snooty tone, his nose turned up. Despite the other boy's levity, Harry could sense anxiety. He shuddered to think what Mr. Malfoy might do if he were 'very displeased'.

"Well, I've been told that if I don't behave myself, there will be 'dire consequences'." He didn't want to tell Malfoy about Voldemort's threat to keep him from Hogwarts; Malfoy might decide to sabotage his efforts. Anxious or not, he _was_ a spoiled brat. "So, if anybody asks, we're getting along smashingly. And my manners have improved vastly." Harry heaved a put-upon sigh.

"Deal." Draco smirked at him. "I'm trying out for Chaser this year. I've grown a bit too tall for a Seeker. Lucky you; you're still so…petite. You'll probably be small enough to play Seeker until 7th year."

"Chaser, huh? Should be good for you. You've been needing a change of pace," Harry returned with a sharp smile. Draco acknowledged his score with a twitch of an eyebrow.

The rest of the Slytherins finally arrived. Goyle and Crabbe acknowledged him with nods, while Pansy gave Harry a bright, wholly insincere smile. Bulstrode's look was coolly assessing. Despite her thug-like build, she was quite sharp. Pansy immediately claimed the seat on Harry's left. Goyle and Crabbe seated themselves in the two seats to Draco's right. Bulstrode, wearing a resigned expression, sat next to Pansy.

"So, Potter…or would that be _Lord_ Potter?" She gave him a flirtatious, predatory smile.

"Potter's fine." Pretending to look through his books, Harry flicked a glance at Malfoy, catching his disgruntled expression. He mentally cursed Pancy for disrupting their fragile truce.

Carmichael interrupted the increasingly tense atmosphere, clearing his throat and announcing, "We're going to be spending these sessions working on test taking strategy, study skills, and any courses you feel you need help with." He gave a small smile. "I received an OWL in all 11 courses, so I'm sure you'll agree that I'm more than qualified. This is more of a guided study group than a formal class. Any questions?"

Hermione had often blathered on about testing taking strategies and study skills; in fact, she had actually attended classes that taught these skills. Unfortunately, she wasn't terribly good at explaining things (Harry rather thought she was just too smart to teach regular people), so her attempts to teach Ron and Harry had usually ended with a row and the two boys wandering off to the Quidditch pitch.

"I'll explain my test taking strategies, because they will shape the material we study this summer. My father was a Ravenclaw, but my mother was a Slytherin." He gave the class a sharp smile. "Keep in mind that the OWL exams fall under the authority of the Ministry of Magic. One," he held up his forefinger, "they have to pay for all expenses incurred in the testing process, and two," he held up a second finger, "they are liable should anything untoward happen during the tests. Now, what does this mean for you, the test taker?"

"The ingredients for the potions practical will be common and non-reactive. I would guess most will be mundane, rather than magical," Draco drawled, examining his fingernails.

Carmichael nodded, "Exactly. Mundane ingredients are inexpensive and far less likely to combine into something lethal, should the brewer make a mistake. However, what your potions practical lacks in expense, it will make up for in complexity. Keep in mind that, unlike your other exams, you will get exactly one chance. You only get one set of ingredients, and none of the neutralizing agents that might allow you to correct a mistake. You should all have one of these," he added, holding up the tabbed book Harry had noticed earlier. "I suggest you begin to write down the particulars of every potion you've worked on in class. Start with fourth year and work back. Whenever you study a potion, make it a habit to look over the basics of the animals and plants your ingredients came from. This way, you study for three courses at once. I've included a list of common potions made in OWL practicals. I suggest you add those as well.

"Today, we're going to begin working on the _Erudition Memoria_, or Learning Memory potion. This is a Ravenclaw favorite and dead useful. It enhances the ability of the brain to absorb and retain knowledge. Now, this won't make you any smarter. What it will do is put you in a state where you can learn at your absolute best. There are many drawbacks: One, the drinker must brew it himself. Drinking someone else's _Erudition Memoria _can be toxic. Number two: The drinker must be relaxed when he takes it. Therefore, taking it for a last minute cram session is not advised—unless you want to spend a few days in the hospital wing, or on your knees in front of a toilet. It's also fairly tricky to brew. The good news is that, correctly brewed, it will stay potent for over a year." Carmichael tapped the black board, and instructions began to scrawl themselves across the surface.

Following Carmichael's instructions, Harry carefully copied the recipe in his new journal, then began brewing. While lacking Snape's brilliance, Carmichael was a good instructor, willing to inspect each ingredient before it was added and offering advice. Malfoy, of course, was finished first.

"Malfoy's potion is finished. Now, I'm going to show you a useful little spell that will impress your OWL examiner." He spooned a small amount of the potion into glass bowl, then pulled a short wand from his pocket, and said, "_Capsula_!" A droplet of the potion separated from the rest. Carmichael caught the now-solid drop in his hand. "Portable and a perfect dose. This spell will work on most OWL practicals, because of the low volatility of both the ingredients and the resulting potions."

Malfoy looked disgruntled. "Professor Snape never taught us that," he griped.

"It's 'foolish wand-waving,' isn't it?" Harry quipped.

"The Encapsulating Charm, unfortunately, will interfere with a lot of potions, especially those containing potent magical ingredients."

Harry grinned, "So, while it's not that great in the real world, it's perfect for OWLs."

"Exactly," Carmichael said. "The magical ingredients in this potion are very stable and subtle—which is why this potion works as well as it does without the risk of addiction or brain damage."

The other five returned to their potions. Bulstrode finished second. Goyle managed to create a weak but still useable brew. Crabbe's was a failure. Though Harry finished after Crabbe, his potion was perfect. And Pansy's was a smoking disaster. Carmichael poked the mass with a glass stirring rod, frowning. Pansy's face was angry and pinched.

"You want to give it another try?" He asked.

Pansy tossed her curls, letting loose a false little laugh. "Maybe later."

Carmichael shrugged. "Your loss, then." He turned and offered Harry the wand.

"_Capsula_!" Harry commanded. The droplet began to form, then collapsed back in the dish. Pansy tittered. "_Capsula_!" His second try remained firm for a moment, but melted in his palm when he caught it. "_Capsula_!" Harry grinned as he snagged the translucent yellow pill.

"Harry's used to a much longer wand. No wonder it took him so long." She giggled, shooting Carmichael a maliciously sultry look.

"Very mature, Parkinson," Harry snapped, ignoring her pout.

"Generic wands are usually short. A few more inches won't improve the power by much, and the short length makes them good for small, precision spells. Plus, they aren't tracked by the Ministry." Carmichael seemed oblivious to Pansy's nasty innuendo.

"Brilliant," Harry smirked at Pansy's abashed expression.

"This potion can be consumed in several ways. One capsule—two of yours in this case, Goyle—is a full dose. It gives you 24 hours of intense focus. Note that you won't be able to sleep during this time. Do _not_ take any sleeping potions.

"Another method is to dissolve a capsule in water, and drink the water over the course of a day. The effects are less intense this way. It's especially useful when you're in a foreign country and wish to learn the language. I spend a month in France and used this diluted version everyday, and came home nearly fluent. I advise you try this one at first. Dissolve one capsule in a gallon of water, and drink one ounce each hour.

"A third method is too work the potion into a candle or incense, and burn it when you study. I don't recommend this, since you are likely to make your roommates ill. Knowingly exposing others to your _Erudition Memoria_ constitutes reckless endangerment, and carries a term in Azkaban. Because of this reason, students are not allowed to possess this potion at Hogwarts. You may request Madam Pomphrey or your Head of House to hold it for you."

Harry carefully labeled his bottle of _Erudition Memoria_. He might be able to make up for two years of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes in one summer, after all.

* * *

Author's Note: Since he's been recognized as the Heir of Slytherin, Harry's formal title is Lord Potter. While he was the heir, Voldemort was Lord Marvolo. Now he's Thomas Marvolo, Lord Slytherin. (Like George Gordon, Lord Byron). 

FYI: Voldemort had his name in the magical world officially changed from Tom Marvolo Riddle to Thomas Marvolo.

Thanks to my reviewers! devil8duck, blueswan142, Sci-Fri-HPFreak, Kristin, kansas-5609, poof, Dying Angel1, dubdigit, I-see-thestrals, wes.lane

If I get 110 reviews, I'll update next Monday!


	11. ParentTeacher Conference

Harry spent the evening painstakingly copying four years of messy Potions notes into his new journal, faithfully drinking one ounce of the watered-down potion each hour. Each ingredient got its own entry, along with notes garnered from his Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures textbooks (thaumazoology was a word only a Ravenclaw—or Hermione—could love).

His breakfast tray that morning had included his schedule for the next week. Class would start at precisely 9 am and end at 3 pm. Lunch was noon to 1. Harry almost gratefully noticed that 'Physical Activity' had been scheduled from 4 to 5. His summers were full of chores, and his Hogwarts school year had Quidditch practice, not to mention all of those stairs. Now that he was getting three meals and two snacks a day, he needed to make sure he didn't end up like Dudley.

Sesphie again guided him to the classroom. A large wooden table had been added. The table was covered in heaps of both dried and fresh herbs, flowers, bark, mushrooms, and live plants in small pots. Malfoy and Crabbe were already dressed in sturdy smocks, watching Carmichael fuss about with his samples. Harry dumped his books on his desk and donned a smock.

He was gently removed the faded yellow petals from the dried calendula flowers when he heard a gasp. Looking up, his gaze met a changed Pansy Parkinson. _If Britney Spears was a witch, and made magical music videos, she'd dress like that_, he decided, feeling a bit dazed. Her elaborate make-up made her eyes huge and sultry, her lips full and pouty. Her complicated hair-do was twined around a fanciful hairpiece made of crystal and silver wire, throwing sparks of light whenever she turned her head. Though still obviously witch's robes, her clothes revealed more cleavage than he had ever seen on a witch. The long skirt had slits that ran all the way up to her hips, revealing legs just barely concealed by the gauzy, softly hued underskirt.

Harry wondered if there were some weird event planned today that he hadn't been informed of. _It would be just like Voldemort to spring_—he thought, then caught Draco's scandalized expression. Even the unflappable Carmichael and the normally dense Crabbe looked a touch horrified.

Harry turned his gaze back to Pansy. He thought her outfit rather pretty. But compared to normal magical attire, he supposed it _was_ pretty racy. _From Draco's expression, racy might be an understatement._

"Parkinson, you're hardly dressed for a Herbology lesson," Carmichael said reproachfully, his voice coolly professional.

Pansy tossed her sparkling hair and gave a tinkling little laugh. Fixing Harry with a coy look, she said, "I guess I'll just have to watch, then."

"Fine," he said indifferently.

Harry looked away from the tarted-up schoolgirl, groping for something to say. "Er…this is marigold? Is it magical marigold? 'Cause my Aunt's marigolds don't look like this," he babbled.

"It's pot marigold, Potter. Though it grows quite well in non-magical areas, its healing properties are enhanced when grown in a magical environment." Harry nodded dutifully. A Quick-quotes quill faithfully recorded their words. "It's a favorite for use in Potions and Herbology practicals, though it's usually purchased from growers in mundane areas. It's used in a number of potions, and is very unlikely to combine with another ingredient and cause a catastrophe." Pansy sashayed to the table and plucked a few petals from a dried rose, 'accidentally' letting some of the petals fall into her cleavage. Crabbe's eyes were riveted to the be-petaled skin so generously exposed, and Draco kept his eyes fixed on the mushroom gills he was harvesting, refusing to even look at Parkinson.

The last two arrived together. Goyle (who was the sharper of Malfoy's minions, Harry had come to realize) gaped for a minute at Pansy, then joined Draco in not looking. Bulstrode gave Parkinson a decidedly cold look, and took a place at the table as far as possible from the other girl.

"Your Herbology practical will be shaped by the same considerations as your Potions practical. Fresh mandrake, for example, is never included. While inexpensive, it is very volatile. Depending on how cheap the Ministry is feeling, the Potions practical may use samples from your Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures" here he rolled his eyes at the name "exams. If you have either of those exams before your Potions exam, make sure to review any Potions using the samples you worked with."

Harry had always found Herbology rather unpleasant. He'd never forgotten Professor Sprout's coldness to him during his second year, which Finch-Fletchley had been petrified, and again during his fourth year, when his name had spewed out of that damn Goblet. The fact that he'd spent sweltering summer days tending his Aunt Petunia's plants didn't make the class any more pleasant. Despite his misgivings, the study session was surprisingly enjoyable. All five of them (Pansy refused to cover her new clothes with a smock) spent the morning cleaning and preparing the pile of samples Carmichael had brought. Malfoy enjoyed showing off his rather impressive Potions knowledge, discussing various brews the different plants could be used in. Harry's experience as a gardener, something he'd never thought to apply at Hogwarts, helped him identify which of the live plants were in distress, and some suggestions for remedies.

After cleaning up, they sat down to a hearty lunch. Harry was impressed at how smoothly Carmichael was managing four—_okay, five_—fractious personalities. He had established himself as their leader, rather than their teacher, easily quelling arguments and providing answers to questions, yet also laughing at their jokes and engaging in conversation.

However, without the shared topic of Herbology to engage them, they fell silent as the meal began. Goyle finally cleared his throat, and asked, "So, Potter, how's Muggle food different from regular food?" Pansy rolled her eyes, but Crabbe looked up from the chicken he was devouring. _Goyle said the magic word_, Harry thought.

"Well, muggles don't have house-elves or magic to help them, so they've invented a lot of appliances to make things easier," he began.

"Appliances?" Draco asked, tasting the strange word.

"Yeah, like toasters and ovens and microwaves…" he paused, taking in the confused looks. "Let's start with toasters," he decided. _Toasters are simple, aren't they?_ "A toaster is a metal box with slits in the top big enough for a slice of bread," he explained. "There are wires inside that heat up and toast the bread."

"Why not use a fire and a toasting fork?" Goyle asked.

"Er…toasters are faster. And easier. Most Muggles don't use fire to cook with, except just for fun." The Slytherins looked dubious; obviously not getting what fun someone could possibly have cooking with fire.

Harry forged ahead, "Ovens are pretty much the same, except they run on electricity rather than wood or magic. And microwaves heat stuff."

"Ovens heat food. Why would you need this microwave thing if you have an oven?" Bulstrode asked.

"Ovens cook food. Microwaves just heat it up," Harry tried to clarify. "You know, when you don't have time to make something, so you just heat up leftovers." They all wrinkled their noses fastidiously.

The rest of the hour was spent explaining the concept of frozen dinners, popcorn, and other uniquely Muggle culinary delights.

Late that afternoon, as the students gathered their things, Carmichael announced, "Tomorrow we'll be reviewing Thaumazoology—otherwise known as Care of Magical Creatures," he added for Crabbe's benefit.

"Great, another fun day of Death Eater Day Camp," Harry remarked, feeling a certain pleasure at the shock his offhand remake elicited.

---

At four o'clock that afternoon, Sesphie escorted Harry to yet another strangely convenient room.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Snape's familiar voice greeted him. The professor was wearing trousers, boots, and a black tunic over a white shirt. He had a gently curved sword in each hand.

"The Dark Lord has decided that you are to be instructed in the art of the sword. Contrary to Muggle techniques, wizards often learn to wield a sword with their off-hand, since magic is the primary weapon. However, less powerful wizards may choose to focus primarily on swordsmanship, and secondarily on magic. The best war wizards may switch wand and sword hands with ease." With a graceful twist of his wrist, he offered Harry the second sword, hilt first. "Today we will work on some basic exercises." Harry spent a surprisingly tiring hour practicing a few basic moves and stances, switching the sword from hand to hand. The controlled, yet powerful movements were far more difficult than they looked.

The walls all had floor to ceiling mirrors enchanted to show the occupants from a variety of angles. Harry could stare into the mirror in front of him and get a view of himself from the left, right, or even behind.

Snape nodded as Harry completed the last set of exercises. "That's enough for today." He held out his hand, and Harry returned the sword, making a clumsy attempt of the move Snape had used earlier. Snape raised an eyebrow, and said, "Try to avoid maiming yourself in an attempt to impress me, if you please." Harry blushed as Snape relieved him of the sword.

"Thanks for the lesson, sir," he said politely, then obediently followed Sesphie back to his room.

---

Snape bowed politely and seated himself at the small table. Voldemort's eyes were half-lidded as he basked in the late afternoon sun poured into the small, elegant room. The Carmichael boy was already seated, sipping his tea and trying to hide his nervousness. The two exchanged nods and remained silent, unwilling to break the Dark Lord's meditation.

After several moments, the Dark Lord emerged from his half-trance. "How are Harry's lessons proceeding?"

Carmichael wet his lips nervously, then replied, "Quite well, my Lord. His practical work is excellent, so far."

"Then why, do you suppose, that his marks at Hogwarts do not reflect this?" The Dark Lord said softly, testing for untruths born from a desire to flatter.

Carmichael straightened his spine, and responded calmly, "Hogwarts marks reflect the results of essays and tests, rather than practical application. The current administration works to create a hierarchy based on qualities besides individual magical power." Severus was impressed by both the boy's calm demeanor and his understanding of the realities of his educational system.

"What are your plans for the rest of the summer?"

"Most of our time will be spent in discussion and review. Mr. Potter seems to do better with someone to guide him, rather than active direction."

"And your other students?"

"With the exception of Miss Parkinson, they seem to be working well together and enjoying each other's company."

"Is Miss Parkinson a problem?"

"She is attempting to create a conflict between Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy seems a bit jealous, and Mr. Potter a bit unnerved."

"Would removing her be beneficial?"

Carmichael considered his answer before replying carefully, "She is not interested in working, my Lord, and is becoming a distraction to the other students. I believe that, without the pressures of House competition, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have an excellent chance to become friends, and Miss Parkinson is definitely an obstacle to that end."

The Dark Lord steepled his fingers. "I will consider it. Arrive tomorrow at the same time." Carmichael nodded, and left the room after a polite bow.

The Dark Lord looked at the Potions Master. "Your thoughts, Severus?"

"I agree with Carmichael's assessment of Harry's abilities to an extent. However, I also believe that he has sought to retain his current friendships by not outshining his friends. With the exception of a few truly remarkable instances, like the Patronus Charm, Harry's marks and classroom performance have remained on a par with Mr. Weasley's."

The Dark Lord frowned. "Have his friends encouraged this self-handicapping of his?"

"I doubt it, my Lord. I believe it is a habit he learned from his Muggle relatives. His marks rarely rose above those of the Dursley boy."

"He is studying hard this summer, so desire to learn is not the issue. I will inform him that his remaining at Hogwarts is contingent upon his marks. I will review his performance after the first term, and then determine if more stringent measures are necessary."

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Sorry for the weird page break, but won't allow me to add the line I usually use.

I am currently doing revising of all previous chapters and will be reposting them. Any suggestions?

Thanks to my reviewers: 

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I'll update when I have 130 reviews. Yes, I am SHAMELESS!


	12. Like cats and birds

Hedwig landed on the big man's roof, taking a few moments to gulp down her mouse before resuming her watch. The silent man usually passed this way before making one of his long jumps. It had been obvious to Hedwig that the silent man was her boy's sire the moment she had seen him. After all, their plumage was the same colour and pattern, though her boy's was perpetually ruffled.

He-who-hunts-the-evil-ratman (his girl, the fluffy one, called him by the ignominious name of Crookshanks) had explained to Hedwig that humans often altered the colour of their plumage, and so did not appreciate the subtle differences in texture and shade. Plus, humans were woefully unobservant, just bordering on stupid. Considering that her boy's red-feathered nestmate had sheltered the evil ratman from Crookshanks' righteous ire for most of a year, Hedwig couldn't argue. She and Crookshanks were both smugly pleased that their particular people were quite intelligent, far above the average human.

Cleaning her talons, Hedwig wished that the part-Kneazle were here. She was certain he would help her find her boy. The other humans would be little to no help—even with their stone nest empty for the summer, they had still managed to lose her boy, after all—so she was on her own.

She poised herself for action as the silent man finally glided into view. He moved like a hunting owl flew—silent, graceful, with no motion wasted. Gliding from limb to limb, Hedwig put on a burst of speed as the man prepared to jump. She seized hold of his magic with her talons and endured being dragged in the man's wake as he leapt to his destination. If her boy wasn't there, she was going to bite the silent man until he took her to the right place.

---

Snape frowned as he landed at the entrance to his ancestral home. Only blood relatives could apparate so near—but he could have sworn he felt a presence apparate nearby. However, the wards remained quiet, so perhaps he was simply more wearied than he'd thought.

1111111111111111111111111111

Hermione Granger gasped an "Oof!" as Crookshanks used her stomach as a launching pad to leap onto the windowsill. The cat searched the skies, waiting for Hedwig. Though Hermione firmly refused to anthropomorphize animals, at times it seemed that the two familiars were friends. Crookshanks was always waiting at the window when Hedwig appeared. The fact that he was actually looked for her, rather than sensing when she neared the house, began to make Hermione wonder if something was wrong. He was strangely restless, rather like he'd been during most of their third year.

"Hermione! There's a Ron Weasley on the telephone for you!" Hermione hurried downstairs. Her parents firmly believed that teenagers should not have their own telephones, televisions, or computers in their rooms.

Lifting the earpiece, Hermione said, "Hello, Ron," and quickly pulled the phone away, bracing herself.

"HERMIONE! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Each word was loud and carefully enunciated, as though she were a deaf person.

"Yes, Ron, don't speak so loudly."

"Er…sorry? Can you still hear me?"

"Yes, crystal clear."

"Mum and Dad wanted me to invite you to the Burrow. Mum wants to talk to your mum and okay it with her."

"Sure, I'll just—," Hermione was interrupted as Ron handed the phone to his mother.

"Oh, Ronald, these phellytones, I just don't know—HERMIONE DEAR? ARE YOU THERE?"

Hermione sighed, "Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

"LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR MUM. ON THE FELLYTONE!"

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley." Hermione punched the speakerphone button. "Mum, Mrs. Weasley would—,"

"MRS. GRANGER, CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Dr. Granger blinked at the voice that blasted from the telephone.

"Mum, it's Dr. Granger. She's a denty."

"Oh, dear, I hope I haven't offended her—DR. GRANGER, EXCUSE ME. I AM VERY SORRY. CAN HERMIONE—,"

"Mum, you don't have to shout," Ron said in a knowing tone, having conveniently forgotten that Hermione had to remind him of this at the beginning of every phone conversation.

"Young man, I don't need you to tell me how to use the fellytone. DR. GRANGER, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE HERMIONE OVER FOR THE WEEKEND. SHE A LOVELY GIRL AND WE WOULD LOVE TO HAVE HER!"

"Er…yes, that would be quite nice."

"WONDERFUL! WE WILL BE BY TO COLLECT HER AT 6 THIS EVENING. IS THAT ALRIGHT?"

"Lovely, yes, thank you," she said weakly, having been beaten into submission by Mrs. Weasley's thunderous voice.

"GOOD BYE NOW. I WILL BE PUTTING UP THE FELLYTONE." There were several scraping and bumping noises, and Ron's voice saying, "Mum, that's backwards!" before the call finally ended.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Hermione set Crookshanks' carrier on the car seat beside her, resisting the urge to open the cage so she could clutch him to her. Contrary to her expectations, Mr. Weasley was driving the car. The only other passenger was an Auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking grim and wary.

"Has something happened, Mr. Weasley?" she ventured.

"You will be informed when we are in a secure location, Miss Granger," the Auror answered. Hermione frowned, fidgeting with the book she had retrieved from her purse.

---

Rather than a pleasant weekend at the Burrow, two thirds of the Gryffindor Trio found themselves confined to the creepy Order Headquarters until further notice. They had shooed Ginny from the room the two girls would be sharing, in order do some serious thinking about what was going on. No one would tell them about Harry, but Ron assured Hermione that something bad had happened. The Weasley parents were worried, and Mr. Black and Professor Lupin were only in Grimmauld Place long enough to sleep and snatch a meal before going 'back on duty' whatever that meant.

After hours of fruitless speculation, the two joined Crookshanks in restlessly scanning the sky, hoping for white wings.

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

More than two weeks had passed. Much of that time had been spent cleaning and repairing Grimmauld Place—the Black Ancestral home, it turned out. Whatever the situation was, it had gone from bad to worse, judging by the adults' increasingly frantic behavior.

Their attempt to repair a broken window was interrupted by screaming. "BLOOD TRAITORS AND FILTH! DEFILERS OF MY HOUSE! YOU WILL RUE THE—," the enraged shrieking abruptly cut off. Driven by boredom, the two Gryffindors made their way down the narrow staircase to see who had dropped by. Hearing loud blubbering in the kitchen, they stopped to listen.

"I 'aven't seen the poor bird fer two days! Little 'Arry missin', and now 'is owl!" Hagrid's voice broke into wet sobs.

"Buck up, old man," Black said, his own voice hoarse and weary. "She's probably just gone to find Harry. Maybe she'll bring back a letter from him!" he added, growing excited.

"Maybe so. I'm sure she's alright, Hagrid. Hedwig's an uncommonly smart owl," Lupin said comfortingly.

Hermione and Ron stared at each other, wide-eyed. Harry was missing...and it sounded like his best hope was an owl.

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Sorry for the 111's. won't let me use the line function. Still!

Thanks to my reviewers:

blueswan142, Sci-Fri-HPFreak, Kristina, SugarGirl, koldy, Miss Fusha-Orange, devil8duck, fifespice (thanks for the multiple reviews!), lily, Zetsumei90, i-see-thestrals, DianaTheHUNTRESSS, OrionLuckyStar, devil8duck, annoynomous

I'll post again when I have 145 reviews!


	13. Scrolls and Snakes

Albus sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger as the scroll full of translated legal jargon rolled shut. Young Sirius had been right—there was no legal way to separate an Heir from their House Head, especially if that House Head was a Lord. Unlike Muggle society, with its proliferation of meaningless titles and obscure nobility, the nobility of the magical world was nearly unchanging. Great Britain had less than two dozen noble families. The newest House had held its Lordship for five hundred years.

Of course, the Houses themselves remained opaque to anyone outside of their exclusive clique. No diaries or records had ever made it into the mainstream magical world. A handful of dedicated scholars quietly documented the activities of these houses from the outside—gathering articles, noting Wizengamot votes, mapping family trees, and dissecting circumstantial evidence. Galen Strather (one of Tom Riddle's year-mates, in fact) was one of these. It was a strange legacy, passed down haphazardly. His records had frustrating blanks where no descendent had taken up the mantle. Galen had loaned him these records with a strange sort of reverence.

"_Rather a strange hobby, Mr. Strather," Albus said jovially, not wanting to tip the man off to the importance of his request._

"_It's not a **hobby**, Headmaster, it's a **calling**," he said, his eyes disturbingly intense, almost zealous. "These families move in and out of the shadows of our world; yet they guide and rule in ways that the Minister or the Wizengamot can barely imagine."_

These records contained a history of decisions made for the good of magical society, though often ruthless in their practicality. There was evidence that Lady Ophelia Black had encouraged the spread of the Black Death in the Muggle world in order to distract the Catholic Church from its campaign of witch burning. A map revealed that some of the most afflicted areas were located near Hogsmeade, Beauxbatons, and several other major hubs of medieval magical society, allowing the magical population to establish heavily warded buffer zones between them and the Muggle population. Hundreds of Muggle-born witches and wizards all over Europe had vanished from plague-devastated towns, only to turn up at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang in their eleventh year for schooling, healthy and happy.

Lord Bleddyn Llewelyn and Lord Damien Slytherin had brutally pushed through the construction of St. Mungo's, still Europe's finest magical hospital. _Prophet_ articles at the time had attacked and derided the expense (though the families in question had together donated half the cost of the hospital). The building had been built with some of the strongest materials in the world, and resided on a potent conjunction of ley-lines. Of course, such valuable property was not for sale…until the families owning said property had either quietly capitulated and sold their property, or suddenly found themselves beset by financial difficulties or even imprisoned. Furthermore, the two lords had bullied and blackmailed the finest Healers, Herbalists, and Potion Masters into teaching at their fledgling medical school. The best and brightest youth of the age had responded to incentives to study under these masters, producing a generation of dedicated specialists—at the expense of the Ministry, the Auror corps, and dozens of businesses. Yet, just as the hospital was fully staffed and functional, a terrible strain of Dragon-pox threatened to annihilate Magical Britain. Had St. Mungo's not been staffed with gifted Healers who had access to the powerful ley-lines, half of magical Britain's population might have been lost.

Indeed, without Lord Salazar Slytherin's brutal political clout, Hogwarts herself may never have been built. The first school of its kind, it was a veritable fortress, built to shelter both people and knowledge. Wizards and witches had sought shelter from the Muggle Cromwell's regime, witch trials, and the Hitler's bombing of London. Lord Slytherin had secured (or coerced) the services of the finest stonemasons and ward-builders in the world to construct his school. Even today, Hogwarts could easily feed and shelter ten-fold its current student population.

No member of these Houses had ever been Minister, of course…but plenty of Ministers had been toppled from power, or died under strange circumstances, after crossing them.

While Lord Voldemort was a figure of fear and loathing, the newly inducted Lord Slytherin bore no such stigma. Dumbledore would be hard-pressed to keep him from acquiring a seat on the Wizengamut, much less deprive him of his Heir. Indeed, he was also entitled to a seat on the board of governors for both Saint Mungo's and Hogwarts herself.

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Severus dribbled hot wax around the mouth of the corked vial, sealing the last of the potion. It was well after midnight. As he was shelving the books he'd consulted, he heard a whisper of movement behind him. Turning, he saw the Dark Lord lifting one of the vials, swirling the potion to observe its colour and texture.

"An excellent brew, Severus," he complemented.

"Thank you, my Lord," he replied. The Dark Lord sighed at his cold formality.

"Come. I have something to show you."

The two moved silently through the ancient halls. The Dark Lord hissed softly, resting one spidery hand on the wall. A door appeared, and they stepped into Harry's darkened room. A few candles flared to life, providing enough illumination for the watchers, but not enough to wake the sleeping child.

In contrast to the typical adolescent sprawl, the boy was curled in a corner of the bed, clutching a pillow to him. Seeing an unnatural shadow in his peripheral vision, Severus drew his wand, only to have his wrist seized in an inhumanly strong grip.

"Watch," Voldemort breathed, his voice filled with wonder. The shadow grew darker and somehow heavier. It wound itself up the bedpost and onto the bed. The vague form slowly coalesced, revealing a monstrous black snake, at least a dozen feet long, with burning sparks in its eye sockets. It draped itself over the sleeping boy, its blunt muzzle actually touching Harry's lips as it inhaled each breath the boy exhaled.

Severus jumped as a flesh-and-blood serpent crawled over his foot on its way to join the great shadow snake on the bed. It was only the forerunner—a dozen adders and garden snakes crawled after it. Eerily glowing snakes, magical and mundane, emerged from the walls and floor. Soon, a great Gordian knot of scaled bodies covered the bed and its occupant.

"Breath-taking, isn't it," the Dark Lord murmured.

"Are those—ghosts?" Severus asked, looking at the translucent forms. One hissed at him and shook its rattle in warning.

"Yes. Even the spirits of our totem adore him. Oh, he will make a grand Lord Slytherin." The Dark Lord released a breathless, almost giddy laugh.

The pair watched for the better part of an hour as ghosts, spirits, and living creatures came to touch the new Heir. Severus whispered, "Does Harry..."

"He has no idea. They will be gone when he awakens." The Dark Lord sighed pensively. "They are loath to let him go. I will be hard-pressed to send him back to Hogwarts."

"You're Lord Slytherin, now. Surely they will obey you."

The Dark Lord shot him an amused look. "The way that Slytherin House always obeys you?" Severus grimaced, recalling Draco's Dementor 'prank' during the brat's third year.

"They want what they want—and whom they want. They care nothing for education or societal expectations. They have been without a Lord or an Heir for a long time. And Harry is so young—they want him close, so they can keep him safe."

"He will be upset if he is not allowed to return," Severus noted, keeping his tone neutral.

"I know. I have entered into negotiations with our Patron in this matter."

Severus thought he was probably better off not knowing what that meant.

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Thanks to all of my reviewers! 

Akira Shinaichi, Miss Fusha-Orange, Kim, acdclover2, Kamorie, Kim, kansas-5609, Sci-Fri-HPFreak, UK2US99, devil8duck, fifespice, Kristina, BabyDragon848, berkum, Lord Master Omega

I'll update when I have 170 reviews.


	14. Birthday Boy

Lucius Malfoy sat, watching his Lord attentively while Voldemort pondered whatever was bothering him. Though his appearance was several steps beyond eerie, Voldemort had somehow regained the focus and brilliance that had drawn the elite of magical Europe to him decades ago. He had inspired them, until his focus had become obsession, his brilliance instability. The intelligent among his followers had been relieved at his relatively easy end, and had quietly slipped back into the mainstream of magical life. Still, they had mourned their inspiring visionary who had promised them a magical Renaissance.

"Harry will be fifteen in a few weeks," Voldemort finally said, his tone vaguely uneasy.

Lucius understood instantly. Voldemort had pushed the boundaries of magic, faced harrowing ordeals, and led men into battle, but he had never been a parent. And, suddenly, he was responsible for raising not an infant or (relatively) tractable youngster, but a powerful teenaged wizard with every reason to defy him. And now he had to plan a birthday party for said teenager. Draco was difficult enough, and Lucius had the benefit of fifteen years to get used to the boy.

Also, while Voldemort may have magical and legal rights to the boy, he certainly did not have his loyalty. And Potter's 'conversion' would no doubt be difficult.

"A celebration is in order then, my Lord. His birthdays needn't be large, formal affairs for a few years yet."

"Your son had quite a gala for his birthday, as I recall," the Dark Lord's voice was deceptively light, but Lucius was well aware of the venomous undercurrent.

He nodded agreeably. "Yes, my Lord. Draco has been attending formal functions for several years, long enough to be comfortable in such surroundings. Mr. Potter is unfortunately lacking that experience." He paused, considering. "While we hosted a large event on the day of Draco's birthday, he also had a small celebration with a few of his friends. They attended a Weird Sisters concert, then spent the rest of the evening at our home."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, then said, "I am not ready to announce our connection to the world at large. Perhaps after his graduation from Hogwarts." The Dark Lord found himself absurdly grateful for the boy's continued animosity. Chaperoning a teenager's birthday party would do nothing for his reputation.

---

Harry dressed in the clothes that Sesphie had laid out for him. These were a bit closer to Harry's normal Hogwarts clothes. Trousers (but with a button fly instead of a zipper), a button-up white shirt, and a lightweight open robe. Instead of a knitted vest, he was given a dark brown waistcoat with silver buttons.

Harry had never been quite so excited about his birthday. The irony, which would have once choked his noble Gryffindor sensibilities, brought a wry, rather Slytherin smirk to his lips. Professor Snape had explained that Voldemort had planned a special outing for him and his 'friends'. Of course, the usual conditions of dress and behavior had been imposed, but Harry didn't really mind. Unlike the Dursleys (_and Dumbledore_, a treacherous little voice murmured) the Dark Lord's rules and expectations were clear.

The thought that his first friends wouldn't be present for his first birthday party saddened him. He'd imagined Sirius planning something like this for him, but beggars can't be choosers. _Carpe diem_, he reminded himself.

Sesphie dithered over him, fussing with his hair and straightening his clothes. She (Harry guessed it was a female, anyway, the named _Sesphie_ seemed sort of girly) was an inch from hysterics at the idea of her 'little master' leaving her watchful eye.

§ _Little master is being careful,_ § she hissed, tearfully. § _Little master is listening to his watchers and is coming home safe and sound!_ § Harry nodded obediently. He wondered what the clingy little elf was going to do when he was at Hogwarts.

---

Severus hadn't attended a child's birthday party since his own had ended when he left for Hogwarts. He had vague memories of presents, shrieking laughter, and children hyper from too many sweets. Of course, Harry was turning fifteen, not five. Teenagers were not prone to sugar-fueled tantrums. They were prone to sneaking off to snog, and going joy riding on 'borrowed' horses or Muggle autos, and consuming mind-altering substances, and…he swallowed his third dose of stomach-calming potion, and braced himself.

---

The Geraldine Roquefort Sanctuary for Magical and Mundane Animals was a dump. Literally. Harry could see a heap of old tires and a tower of rusting autos over the worn wooden fence. A rusty metal sign read 'Tadfield Waste Disposal'. Snape stepped forward and tapped the broken callbox with his wand. A small tray shot out, and the professor dropped a handful of shiny Galleons into it. The gate swung open, and they proceeded inside.

Harry looked around eagerly, confident that the glamour the Dark Lord himself had applied would hold. A middle-aged witch helped four young children out of a rusted oven. A witch and wizard, holding hands and make calves' eyes at each other stepped from an old refrigerator. Harry caught a tempting glimpse of rolling grasslands before the door closed behind the pair.

Snape lead the way, followed by the five students. A Death Eater Harry didn't know brought up the rear. The man was rather small and mediocre looking, but his magic felt coiled and sharp. Harry suspected the man was even more dangerous than Snape, and that was saying something.

Snape opened the door of a rusted-out car and crawled in, looking a bit miffed by the undignified position. Harry eagerly clambered after. The door on the opposite side opened onto a meadow. Grass was growing, but the air had a chilly bite. Glancing back, Harry saw the incongruity of a car door hanging in midair. The rest of the group crawled out.

Snape read from the leaflet for their benefit. "We're currently inside of a warded circle. This prevents the animals from sensing us, and protects us from them and vice-versa. These circles are set in locations close to water or food, so that we will have a better opportunity to see the creatures."

The students crowded to the very edge of the warded circle. "Look!" Harry exclaimed. Four woolly mammoths crested a hill with ponderous grace, moving towards the creek that ran a few feet from the circle. True to the brochure's claims, the giant creatures were completely oblivious to their audience. The rest of the herd joined these scouts, who warily surveyed the surrounding area as the others drank.

---

Six hours later, Severus gladly escorted the weary teenagers to Diagon Alley for dinner at the Gilded Swan, a posh eatery. Though the four wizard-raised children had been ready to leave hours ago, none had dared to indicate their boredom to Harry, who had gazed at each creature with rapt fascination. He had been quite disappointed over those who had not made an appearance. Carmichael had assured him that the zoo was open at night, as well, and they could return to view the nocturnal creatures then.

Even young Draco had controlled his usual brattiness, holding his peace while Harry spent most of an hour watching the frolicking narwhales. All in all, the day had gone quite well. A day at the zoo had seemed rather tame compared to the parties held for most wealthy pureblood teenagers, but Harry had enjoyed it immensely.

Severus pushed away the thought that the Dark Lord knew Harry a bit too well. He would enjoy the first birthday he spent with his son.

---

It was nearly midnight when Harry finally made it to bed. After the incredible day at the zoo and a scrumptious dinner, they had spent the rest of the night playing games and opening presents. Harry had felt a bit uncomfortable about the gifts, but Draco pointed out that the adults _liked_ sucking up to the Dark Lord and Harry should be glad to reap the benefits. Oddly enough, that made Harry feel better.

He had gotten a gobstones set made of gold and precious gems from the Bulstrodes, a luxury owl perch from the Goyles, a strange variant of wizard's chess that involved a three-layer board from the Carmichaels, a self-adjusting saddle from the Crabbes (apparently horse-back riding was in his future), and an antique mirror that gave impeccable fashion and grooming advice from the Malfoys.

The last to leave that evening, Draco had also given him a dozen rare chocolate frog cards. "You're pretty far behind, Potter. I've had a whole extra decade to collect them, so I thought I'd give you a hand up," the blond had said, with a friendly smirk.

Harry flopped on his bed and began tucking the hexagonal cards into the album containing his small collection. The handful of enchanted card-stock was by far his favorite gift. Though Hedwig would enjoy the perch, if he ever got back to Hogwarts.

After a bath, Harry was finally wound down enough to go to sleep. He flopped onto his bed—and onto something that made a peculiar crunching sound. Rolling on his side, Harry examined the pillow. It was plush, wine-red velvet with a tiny golden lion embroidered in each corner. Harry held it to his face and inhaled the scent. Lavender, chamomile, and a host of other herbs. The aroma was comforting and oddly familiar. Snuggling the pillow to him, he drifted off to sleep.

---

Snape peeked in on Harry, grateful that Voldemort had finally given him a password in a human tongue. The sight of the boy wrapped around his gift filled Snape with a quiet sense of peace. He'd sewn it himself, whispering spells of peaceful sleep and healing into each stitch—something else he'd learned from his mother.

He'd made a similar pillow more than a decade ago, shaped like a heart, and managed to slip the gift past Potter's watchful eyes. The few times he'd seen mother and child in Diagon Alley after the birth, the pillow was always tucked into the pram beside the infant.

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My wonderful reviewers: Susie (thanks for ALL of the nice reviews! And I'm so glad to hear I'm one of your fav. authors!), WriterMuseoftheNight, haruhikitty99, Kim, LynnGryphon, C'mon, Sci-Fri-HPFreak, blueswan4, Dying Angel, Kamorie, Mystical Marauder, Kristina (Harry will be stronger than average, but not invincible), K (thank you so much! I totally agree, which is one reason I'm writing a fic. I can't tell you the number of fics where Harry suddenly decides he hates all muggles and Muggle-borns), JuMiKu, devil8duck (I would never hurt Hedwig!), ela999, drchrry fvr, skitzafrennikyahoo.ca, Miss Fusha-Orange, fifespice, I-see-thestrals, kansas-569

I have had several readers comment on my policy of requiring a certain number of reviews to update. I don't mean to be obnoxious! I have just found that I write much better with these little deadlines, because I have made a promise to my readers. And does it really take THAT long to click the button and say something nice?

So, on that note, 205 reviews and I'll update!


	15. Eye of the Beholder

Your reviews help shape this fic! A lot of people asked for more family interaction between Snape, Voldemort, and Harry, so here it is!

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Harry signed his name to his completed Transfiguration essay with a flourish. For the first time in his Hogwarts career, he was satisfied with his summer homework. Over the last few weeks he had attended 'class' each day (Voldemort apparently didn't believe in weekends) with the sole exception of his birthday. Eddie had given him a book that actually explained how to write an essay! Harry had been shocked that someone had written such a thing...and that Hermione hadn't suggested it earlier. He'd always assumed some people just knew how to write essays, and everyone else sort of bumbled along.

Armed with this power of the topic outline and the thesis statement, he'd written essays he was actually proud of. Eddie was pretty uptight about 'academic integrity', which had proved initially frustrating. He refused to just tell Harry what to write, unlike Hermione (after he and Ron had pestered her, anyway). Harry had to admit, though, he was learning a lot more when he figured things out for himself. Their study sessions had fallen into a pattern; a group discussion or practical about a subject, followed by work on summer homework. With Eddie's help, Harry would be joining Professor Glyph's Ancient Runes class this year, assuming he passed the entrance exam. Arithmancy was a bit stickier, but Harry was confident he'd be able to take that OWL in a year or two.

He and Draco were getting along quite well, actually, especially now that Pansy had left the study group. He wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't really care enough to push. He was just relieved she was gone. All that girliness combined with Slytherin cunning was just creepy.

He gently rolled the scroll and slid it into the scroll case he'd found among his fancy new school supplies. Only his Potions assignment remained. Under his usual study habits, his first draft would have been his last. Now, thanks to plentiful resources (and a lack of chores to occupy his time) Harry was on his fourth draft. After the hours spent in studying and discussing with Eddie and Draco, Potions made a lot more sense. Though he still had no intention of pursuing NEWT level Potions, he fully intended to get a respectable E on his OWL.

Harry started violently when a pallid hand lifted the scroll case from his hands and removed completed essay. Voldemort read the six foot scroll with a speed that amazed Harry.

"Well done, Harry. Including an overview and discussion of the laws that govern Animagi shows commendable thoroughness."

"I want to learn how," Harry stated, with a touch of defiance. _Like my Dad_ hung in the air between them, at least for Harry.

"Of course. At one time, it was expected that any witch or wizard who could complete the transformation do so. An animal form is a powerful physical embodiment of one facet of our magic. That is why such transformations appear so often in Muggle folktales."

"Why do so few people do it now?" Harry asked. He often found himself drawn into conversation with the Dark Lord in spite of his firm resolution to ignore him as much as possible. The man was a genius, and seemed eager to share his wealth of knowledge with Harry.

"For centuries, the magical world has been ruled by the most powerful among us. With the establishment of the Ministry of Magic, the less powerful became able to dictate to their betters because of their sheer numbers. The Ministry took the Wizengamut's traditional position as makers of policy. A powerful tide of pro-Muggle and pro-Muggleborn feeling was also sweeping the Wizarding world at this time. The animagi discipline is difficult and limited to wizards of above average magical power and ability. Perhaps three-fifths of Hogwarts graduations have the potential. Keep in mind that Hogwarts graduates make up approximately one tenth of magical Britain's population.

"That's _all_?" Harry exclaimed.

"Most learn at home with their parents until they find a trade. Economics remains the same, Muggle or Magical. The vast majority are employed in providing the goods and services needed on a daily basis. Great Britain only needs a few gifted ward-builders, for example, but many house-builders and repairmen."

"So, Animagi?" Harry prodded, far more interested in that than economics.

"Wizards and witches capable of the greater magics, such as bonding with a familiar or the Animagus transformation, are frightening to the less gifted. They are a step beyond the ordinary wizard, as wizards are a step beyond Muggles and Muggles are a step beyond apes. Thus, the fear of the less gifted became policy, and the greater gifts taboo. Albus Dumbledore himself refers to his familiar as a friend, so as not to discomfit the rabble."

Harry privately thought that the comparison to apes was a bit arrogant, but had learned to sift through Voldemort's speeches for the priceless bits of wisdom they contained.

"Enough for now," the Dark Lord said. "Time for a swimming lesson."

---

_I'd forgotten how big she is_, Harry thought, eyeing Nagini uneasily. The enormous serpent was happily sunning herself. Voldemort sat on the edge of the pool, his pale feet and the hem of his robe trailing in the water. Harry spread his arms and inhaled the fresh air. He hadn't been outside in weeks!

Harry had followed Voldemort through what felt like miles of rough-hewn tunnels. They'd emerged from a rough crack in the rock onto the bank of a river where it emerged from some deep underground bed. Magic had shaped a pool from the rock, smoothing the stone and sculpting steps and benches. A tiny stream, diverted from the might river, fed the pool. The water was nearly perfectly still, and very clear. Harry could see the sandy bottom, flecked with mica or some other shiny mineral.

Voldemort gestured at the water. "Well then, swim."

"I don't feel like it," Harry muttered sullenly. He was not in the mood from this grandfatherly crap from his parents' murderer today, he really wasn't.

The fact that he had nearly drowned when Dudley had pushed him into murky pond when he was five had nothing to do with it.

Voldemort heaved a martyred sigh. "Harry, I have spent a great deal of time and a small fortune acquiring, sheltering, and educating you. I will not have you perish if you should fall into some garden pond or rain barrel."

"You mean kidnapping, imprisoning, and brain-washing me, right?" Harry sneered.

Voldemort raised one hairless brow at Harry's defiance, and waved his wand. Harry's eyes involuntarily clenched shut as he braced himself for a curse, only to feel a sudden blast of balmy air. Harry yelped, hands instinctively covering his now-bare privates. Hunched over defensively and flushed beet-red, Harry scowled at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was taking the opportunity to apprise himself of his Heir's health. The boy was much improved—healthy and well-muscled, thanks to Potion-laced food and his lessons with Severus. Though the imposing height he'd managed to breed into both Severus and Lilith was probably a casualty of years of malnutrition. Or inferior Potter genes.

More than a little creeped out by the Dark Lord's appraising stare, Harry scrambled into the chill pool, sinking until only his head and clutching hands were visible over the rim.

"We will start with the breast stroke," Voldemort announced, seemingly oblivious to Harry's extreme humiliation. He waved his wand at Harry again, and the boy found his body jerking into an unfamiliar series of motions. Under Voldemort's direction, Harry's body swam itself back and forth across the pool.

"Quit it, you scaly—ach!" Harry coughed up the water he'd inhaled. He panicked, flailing wildly as he tried to catch his breath and keep his head above water. A heavy, solid mass rose up under him, gently lifting him. Exhausted from the unaccustomed activity, he clutched at the mass as he gasped and shivered.

§ _Safe now, little one_,§ his perch hissed. Harry shrieked when he realized he was resting on Nagini's massive head. The immense snake glided through the water and gently deposited him next to Voldemort. Harry clambered onto the shore. Exhausted, he huddled on the rock, drawing his knees to his chest to hide his nakedness as best he could.

"Any difficulty becomes worse if you allow yourself to panic," Voldemort noted, and Harry shot him a filthy look. The man waved his wand, and soft blanket, toasty-warm as though straight from a Muggle dryer, wrapped around Harry.

"Catch your breath, then we'll try again. You shouldn't need my guidance this time." Willfully misinterpreting Harry's incredulous look, he added, "Nagini will be ready to assist you, should you need it."

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Several hours later, Harry was hungrily devouring a bowl of soup and slices of toasted baguette topped with mild melted Cheddar.

Harry had stoically endured his swim lesson. Nagini's presence made him think of _Jaws_, adding to his discomfort with the whole thing. Voldemort's helpful advice and encouraging commentary made the experience quite surreal. Though, Harry reflected, he looked more normal in that rough, wild place than in the luxurious rooms of the Slytherin house.

Wistfully thinking of watching the Weasley brothers laugh and dunk each other in their muddy garden pond—_Even my swim lessons are freakish_—Harry felt very homesick. To distract himself, he asked, "So, do all Slytherins lock up their Heirs? 'Cause that room is an awfully convenient prison. It could really use a window—or a door," he said pointedly.

"Traditionally, that room is reserved for hostages."

"_Hostages_?" Harry squeaked, thinking of terrorists hijacking planes.

"It was a common practice for feuding families to exchange younger sons or daughters to help ensure peace. Such children were treated well—clothed and educated as befit their station—but their lives were forfeit should the peace treaty be violated."

Suddenly, Harry's cozy room—of which he'd become quite fond, he'd never had his own room before—seemed frightening and depressing.

Seeing Harry's misery, Voldemort added, "In my research into our family history, I've yet to find an incident where that actually occurred. In fact, quite a few hostages ended up marrying into the family."

Harry let out a relieved breath. No condemned children had been dragged from that room to their deaths. He sipped his tea, wishing for pumpkin juice. It always comforted him.

"Something wrong with your tea, Harry," Voldemort inquired solicitously. Inwardly, he crowed over his victory; Harry had accepted his comfort and assurances.

"Er—it's fine. I just miss pumpkin juice, that's all."

Voldemort looked surprised. "I've never understood how anyone could miss that vile stuff. I was allergic to it, myself."

"Allergic?"

He nodded. "I spent my first weeks at Hogwarts visiting Madam Celia. That dreadful concoction gave me hives." He sipped his own tea. "I'll have the house-elves make you some."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said politely. He was too tired to mouth off. "Why _are_ your house-elves so different, anyway?"

"Their bonds are very different than those of most house-elves. They sworn to House Slytherin, rather than enslaved to it. Thus, they serve us as their own honor and consciences dictate. In fact, one of our ancestors developed a terrible addiction to opium, and the house-elves confiscated his wand and imprisoned him for over a year until he overcame his need for the drug."

Harry rather thought Sesphie was more than capable of taking such action.

Voldemort continued, "Though there is no direct evidence, I believe that centuries spent immersed in the unique power that infuses this place has altered our elves."

"Can they speak English?" Harry asked. He'd never heard Sesphie speak anything but Parseltongue.

"Most of them can, and all of them can understand it. Only a handful have become changed enough to speak Parseltongue. I believe that these few are among the oldest, but the house-elves will not confirm or deny that. But only Parselmouths are served by these unusual elves."

"So that's why you assigned Sesphie to me?"

Voldemort laughed one of his soft, hissing laughs. "Oh, no, child. _She_ picked _you_. We get no say in the matter."

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"Now, tuck in your shirt—perfect! You look wonderful, dear," the mirror said cheerfully. Despite Harry's initial wariness, the mirror had turned out to be quite helpful and kind. She—it had a female voice, at least—had an encyclopedic knowledge of fabric, fashion, and grooming. Under her direction, Harry felt quite dashing. Voldemort had temporarily yielded on the more conservative robes, on the condition that Harry faithfully practiced posture and carriage with Sevilitee. After the last month, Harry could swirl a cloak with the best of them.

Harry followed Sesphie to an enormous Potions lab tucked into the dungeons. A tapestry of the Periodic Table of Elements hung from a wall, and a gold cauldron big enough to bathe in took up a corner of the room. Racks of knives, jars of ingredients, and tables with a variety of surfaces took up the room.

Snape was bent over a shallow bowl on one of the tables. Murmuring softly, he ran one stained finger over the book he was reading, then turned and examined the potion again. Giving a satisfied nod, he draped a clean cloth over the bowl, then turned. "Hello, Harry. How were your lessons?"

"Pretty good, sir. I think I'll be able to join Professor Glyph's class this year."

Snape's long fingers moved restlessly over the ingredients on the table—a move that Harry would have called fidgeting in anybody else. "Your fencing lessons are progressing well."

Harry smiled at the complement. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate you taking the time to teach me."

"I understand you are learning to swim as well."

Harry shifted uneasily, but nodded. "Yes, sir."

Snape began to ask another question, then looked at something behind Harry, his lips pursed in a thin line.

"How goes the brewing, Severus?" The Dark Lord asked. Harry frowned, wondering why Voldemort called him 'Severus' and not 'Snape'.

"It only requires a few more ingredients, my Lord," Snape said. Both of the adults looked at Harry, who began to feel a bit trapped.

"Er, ingredients?" he squeaked, backing away nervously.

"Have you seen Muggle corrective eye lenses, Harry?" Snape asked.

"You mean contacts?"

Snape frowned, "I suppose...a flexible lens that fits directly on the eye?" Harry nodded. "This potion," Snape gestured at the covered bowl, "will act in the same fashion. A drop in each eye will grant perfect eye-sight for several hours."

Harry peered at the bowl, excited. "Really?" The bowl was actually shaped like a contact lens, Harry realized.

"Yes. I'll need some of your tears to complete the potion. Like _Erudition Memoria_, it is unique to you." He handed Harry a small, corked bottle. "Sniff the contents. It will encourage tear production."

Harry worked out the cork and took a deep sniff. His eyes burned as though he was chopping an onion, and tears poured down his face. Something cool and metal rested against each cheek, catching the tears. The burning sensation eased away, and Snape handed him a handkerchief. Blowing his running nose, Harry watched as Snape carefully measured a small spoonful of his tears into the shallow bowl, and bottled the rest. He sprinkled a rosy powder over the potion, and nodded, again covering it. "A few more hours, and it will be finished."

Voldemort said, "I've acquired an Owl-order catalogue for you, Harry. Severus will be brewing lenses for your spectacles as well, and you will need new frames."

"_Brew_ lenses?" Harry said.

Snape nodded. "I will use the remainder of your tears to brew several potions, which will be poured into the frames you choose. The potion will solidify and become a lens."

"Severus is well on his way to becoming an Alchemist as well as a Potions master," Voldemort said, sounding proud.

"What's the difference?" Harry asked, fascinated.

"Potions use primarily organic ingredients and are meant to be consumed, usually orally or topically. Alchemy uses primarily inorganic ingredients and produces objects," Snape said. "The lenses I will make for your spectacles will be nearly indestructible. They will also help you to see more clearly at night and underwater, and darken in bright sunlight."

"Will my contacts do that too?"

"Unfortunately not. That potion temporarily changes the shape of your eye itself. Your spectacles merely change the light before your eyes receive it."

Grinning excitedly, Harry began to flip through the catalogue. The first few pages were ordinary frames, though usually made from wood instead of plastic. Harry studied a flowery pair that came in a riot of colors. After a few moments, the image shifted into a mirror, showing Harry wearing the spectacles. Eagerly, Harry tore through the catalogue, moving quickly once he realized that touching an image would trigger the magic. Bemused, Severus and Voldemort watched parade of styles flicker by. Harry, oblivious to the illusory pink flamingo spectacles now adorning his face, glanced up, wondering at the strange expressions on the faces of the two adults, shrugged and continued.

In the end, Harry chose a simple-looking style with oval frames. According to the advert, they were charmed to fit comfortably and remain on the wearer's face in all conditions.

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Thanks to my wonderful reviewers! Sorry for the delay; I was out of town for Labor Day, and then was acting up. To make it up to you, this chapter is extra long!

fifespice, Susie (thanks for the multi-reviews, and no I don't find them annoying! You tickle me.), C'mon, sparrow, liza123 (glad you're enjoying the interaction), Cleopatra-2012, devil8duck, orionLuckyStar, Kim (thanks for all of the reviews!), WriterMuseoftheNight, blueswan142, Sci-Fri-HPFreak, kansas-5609, Kristina (hope you like this chapter, Harry's still got some spunk!), Dying Angel1, JuMiKu, Gemhull, K, kingwolf, DianaTheHUNTRESSS.

Several people have asked this: This story will not be slash. There will not be serious romance of any kind.

I'll update when I have 245 reviews!


	16. Tea and Cat Food

Animagus forms: What should Harry's be, and why? What is Snape's, and why? Your answers will help me shape this fic!

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_How things change_, Severus mused. In the past, the Death Eaters had reserved their talk of all things familial for their meetings away from their Lord's presence. Now, the Dark Lord was deliberately hosting an informal afternoon tea for the Malfoys in order to discuss their children. Or, in all actuality, his Heir and the child with whom he was on the friendliest terms.

Though the Dark Lord's treachery still filled Severus with cold fury, he did appreciate the fact that the man included him on these sorts of meeting—allowing him a parent's eye view of Harry's development.

Of course, Severus was very aware that any say he had in Harry's life was entirely illusory. But making something from nothing was the hallmark of a skilled Potion Master.

"So, Lord Slytherin, have you finished Lord Potter's school shopping yet?" Narcissa asked.

Voldemort nodded, hiding his discomfiture. Social time with his liege men had been spent discussing strategy and politics. Now he was holding a delicate flowered tea-cup, discussing children and shopping and school supplies.

"Perhaps I could look over your purchases, to makes sure you haven't forgotten anything?" she offered politely. Lucius looked scandalized.

Perversely amused, Severus said, "Mrs. Malfoy _has_ been seeing to Draco's supplies for four years, my Lord. His clothing, books, and class materials are always in order and of good quality." Actually, Severus had no idea of this were true. He just wanted to watch Narcissa tear her way through the stack of owl order catalogues on the dark lord's desk.

Voldemort, oblivious to his danger, nodded agreeably and whispered to his house-elf. The creature retrieved over a dozen catalogues and small stack of receipts. After noting all of Voldemort's purchases on a scroll, she eagerly began flipping through the catalogues.

"Green snakes-skin patterned pajamas, my Lord? That won't do. He'll be shunned by his House." She tutted disapprovingly. "Oh, look at these! Red with golden snitches. How darling." She ticked the box next the pajamas with her quill. "I got Draco a green pair, and he adores them. I've had to replace them every semester, they're always worn out by then! Oh, they come in blue as well!

"The galvanized steel trunk is far too clunky. Now, this inlayed cedar—quite lovely. Long lasting, and it will help protect his garments. It comes with charms to keep out the damp, as well. And 57 hidden compartments! Boys love their little secrets. We'll put some surprises in a few of them.

"Spectacles...I assume Severus is to brew the frames? He'll need a pair for summer and winter, and one to match his formal robes. And some top-notch Quidditch goggles.

"This wand holster is excellent for casual-wear. But he needs one to wear with his formal robes, hmm...no, this one would spoil the lines...

For over an hour, Narcissa chatted and filled out order forms. Harry needed monogrammed vials for his Potions (including blown glass, crystal, and ceramic), multiple formal robes (with appropriate accessories), a broom case, a small portable WWN radio, a total of three trunks (one each for unseasonal and seasonal clothing and one for miscellaneous storage), two dozen pairs of footwear,...finally, looking satisfied, she handed Voldemort the completed forms and advised, "You may want to send those off right away. Some of those orders take a bit of time to fill."

Voldemort quickly added the necessary signatures, and sent the house-off to owl the orders.

Lucius looked a bit dumb-founded. "No wonder the first of September is such an...ordeal." He avoided his wife's steely glare and poured himself more tea.

---

Father and son sat in silence for long moments after the Malfoys flooed home.

"I had not anticipated such...mothering," the Dark Lord finally said. Severus nodded his agreement.

Deciding that the Dark Lord was in a reasonably sociable mood, Severus asked, "If you intended to make Harry your heir, why the whole Tri-Wizard—?" he gestured vaguely, searching for the right word.

The corner of Voldemort's mouth twitched into a small, satisfied smile. "I was wondering when you would ask me that. After Harry's second year, the snakes carried the news of a Speaker to me. I realized then that Lilith had indeed bred true, despite her husband. I hadn't yet realized how truly unique Harry was. My intention was never to kill Harry; it was to use the Tournament as a proving ground, to demonstrate his worth to my followers. I must admit, I was shocked when he dueled with me; I had intended for him to use the Cup and escape." He sighed. "Gryffindors." The Dark Lord measured a few drops of Nagini's venom from a vial into his tea. "Even I was impressed with his courage and endurance. So, I seized the opportunityn for a little initiation. He endured the Cruciatus better than many of my followers. Very few grown men can endure such pain so well, and him a mere boy..."

Severus looked at his father with a mixture of awe and horror. Harry's torture had been a carefully calculated move in his eternal power-struggle. It had certainly succeeded. Even Lucius was impressed. Severus closed his eyes, finding himself grateful for Voldemort's adoption of Harry as his Heir. At least he would never have to hear again of his father torturing his son.

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Harry burrowed his head back under his pillow to escape the cheerful morning sunlight. He was just beginning to drift back into a strange but pleasant dream in which he and Buckbeak had a Chocolate Frog delivery service when the notion of sunlight filtered through his hazy mind. Harry clambered out of bed, cramming his spectacles onto his face as he headed for the blurry rectangle of light.

It wasn't a true window—instead, a section of the wall had become porous, like a sponge or a piece of Swiss cheese. Holes varying from an inch to half an inch in diameter had appeared in the stone. Harry pressed his face against his new window, inhaling the fresh air. He could make out the glint of a large body of water to the left and neat squares of farmed land edged by a forest as intriguing as the Forbidden Forest to the right.

White feathers obscured his vision. "Hedwig!" he shouted gleefully, worming one finger through a hole to pet his owl. Hedwig gently nibbled the fingertip that touched her, then pressed one bright eye to one of the larger openings to study Harry. She hooted, and pointedly held out her leg. Harry bolted for his desk and began writing.

His letter was somewhat ragged by the time he managed to stuff it through, and Hedwig had managed to rip a sizeable tear in the parchment when she tried to help. Getting a secure grip on the letter, she gave him an encourage hoot and lifted off.

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"A letter! Hedwig brought us a letter!" Sirius shrieked, running through the narrow corridors of Grimmauld place, the tattered scroll held aloft like the Olympic Torch. He burst into Remus' small room, and tore the scroll open.

Dear Sirius,

It's Harry. I'm okay, don't worry about me! And tell Amelia Bones to keep an eye out for Wormtail. This is VERY IMPORTANT.

I've been kidnapped by Lord Voldemort. Don't panic! He's made me his heir, which means he can't hurt me.

How's this for pathetic—this is the best summer I've ever had.

I think he told my Aunt his car was broken. He was Poly-juiced to look like a regular guy, then he petrified me and Apparated us to his house. I think it's Slytherin Castle, or something.

He had a little party and he introduced me to a bunch of Death Eaters—but for some reason I can't write down any of their names! Maybe the presents they brought will help you figure it out:

--Some chunks of a blueish metal

--A really fancy violin with phoenix feathers and Singing Tree Wood. It was a BIG DEAL.

--A really awful magical painting with snakes eating lions, badgers, and eagles

--Some shrunken Muggle Heads

--A bunch of potions ingredients

--Some ugly gray fabric that everybody was impressed with

--Jewelry with emeralds and snakes

That's all I can remember. Voldemort has me going to school everyday with five other fifth years and one sixth year. He's teaching me to swim and I have a teacher for fencing and etiquette. My room is facing sort of east, and I have a river or lake on left (North?) and farmlands a forest to my right (South?)

Voldemort said some stuff about my Mum, but I don't believe him. He says if I study hard and behave, he'll send me back to Hogwarts.

Be very careful. I love you.

Harry

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Hedwig drank some water from the kitchen tap while Crookshanks generously tipped the ceramic jar full of cat food onto the floor. It wasn't as good as owl treats, but it was food.

Hedwig explained that the Snake Man had taken her boy and was keeping him in his big stone nest. Her boy's private nest was the nicest he'd ever had.

Crookshanks was confused why the Snake Man would go to so much trouble.

Her boy was the hatchling of the Snake Man's hatchling, the owl told him.

Crookshanks licked his shoulder while he thought. Why didn't the Silent Man take care of his own kitten?

Hedwig agreed that it was very strange. Harry was barely into his fledgling stage, and in need of guidance from his father.

Crookshanks himself had fathered dozens of kittens with both Kneazle and mundane queens. Toms, of course, didn't stick around to rear the kittens, but he'd often left impressive gifts of dead squirrels and rats near the homes of his various mating partners.

Hedwig hooted disdainfully at this evidence of Crookshakes' irresponsibility and promiscuity.

Crookshanks didn't like the feather duster's attitude.

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Hermione was roused from her essay by terrible noises issuing from the kitchen. Throwing open the door, she found Crookshanks yowling at Hedwig. The owl was making a disturbing hissing noise and beating her wings. Hermione seized a spoon and gave Crookshanks a smack, then gave Hedwig a sharp wrap across her talons.

"Bad Crookshanks! Bad Hedwig!" The two were startled out of their aggressive stances and gave her disdainful looks. Hedwig fluttered to the floor and began picking pieces of Crookshanks' cat-food from amidst the shards of the crockery that used to be a jar.

---

Dumbledore read over the letter again, after checking its authenticity with several charms.

"Best summer he's ever had," Sirius needled. "Huh. Considering his host is the Dark Lord who murdered his parents and tortured him, why, imagine how awful those Muggles must have been! Who knew?" Apparently, Sirius had absorbed a few lessons on bitter sarcasm from Snape.

"Let's focus on the matter at hand," Remus said tactfully. "What about sending him a port-key?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus and I discussed this option. The Slytherin family wards are unparalleled masterpieces—they will alert the Lord to any port-keys with unfamiliar magical signatures."

"And if the wards react by torching Hedwig, Harry would never forgive us," Sirius said.

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Note: A female cat is a queen, and a male cat is a tom. Owls form monogamous mating pairs each season, and some mate for life.

Thanks to everybody who review chapter 15! Susie Sarah R Potter Kimi-1973 kansas-5609 great blueswan142 dubdigit Ivanoma 15 haruhikitty1991 poof Kristina devil8duck sparrow Mistress of Eternal Night OrionLuckyStar fifespice K leosands

Ivy: Thanks for the review! Here are some fic recs where Voldemort stops trying to kill Harry: Kiss on Kill, Figments Forever, Tom Marvolo Riddle Potter (all on my favorites page). KrystalRoze (on my fav authors) has an excellent 4 part series with Voldemort as a twisted sort of father figure for Harry. GREAT fic, one of my fav portrayals of Voldemort.

Susie: I would love to visit you on Mars! Your reviews always tickle me. Not sure who your sister is…weird reviews? To add a fic to your favorites, you have to get an account and sign in. Then, when you review, you have the option to add a fic to your favorites. Good dark Harry fics are hard to find...I'll comb my alerts and let you know!

Dubdigit: There's a little Father/son between Voldemort and Snape here. That'll develop more as the story goes on.

Ivanoma: I totally agree! Harry's gotta be smarter than he acts in book 6, especially. (Still bitter about idiot!Harry)

devil8duck: I had actually forgotten about Nagini for a while! But now that I remembered, she'll be showing up more. I'm thinking a Hedwig vs. Nagini Death Match! J/j

Sparrow: Glad you agree! My Harry is not mature in the romance department at all. He's barely past the 'girls have cooties' stage.

K: I love your reviews. They are so insightful. Thank you so much. I find Snape difficult to write, so thanks for the complement.

Annoynomous: I refuse to be ashamed of my bribery! I am proud of my shamelessness!

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I will be re-writing all chapters, and will post the re-written ch 1-4 with my next update! If you have any suggestions or thoughts, let me know!

I will update when I have 285 reviews.


	17. Familiars

Okay, I told a little lie. My updated chaps aren't quite ready. Any more thoughts? I'll post edited ch 1 tomorrow.

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Nagini wound through network of tunnels that ran through her master's immense castle. She had missed this place during the many cold winters she had spent nursing her master's broken form. But now he had healed himself and the great serpent spirit had lifted his banishment and allowed him to return.

Her master's hatchling was a great joy to her, as well. She was confident that he would soon overcome his fear of her and they would have a nice chat. _Master's hatchling's hatchling_, she corrected herself. It made little difference to her, but her master was a stickler for such things. The fact that snakes—lacking fingers—could not really even count was a source of endless frustration to him. Nagini didn't see why he had to be so _particular_ about such things. One, a few, a clutch, more than a clutch—those were sufficiently precise for Nagini.

Nagini was tracking one of the strange two-legs through the tunnels. She was only allowed to eat humans when her master gave his express permission. But these weren't humans, so, she reasoned, the rule didn't apply. Nagini was very proud of herself for figuring this out, and wondered why she hadn't thought of this before.

The little creature scampered along the tunnel, Nagini trailing behind it. It was scaled like a reptile, but also warm-blooded. Perhaps it was a strange lizard.

The creature paused, and Nagini struck. She reared back, hissing, as her prey delivered a rough clout to her muzzle.

§ _Bad snake! Is very naughty!_ § the lizard reprimanded, shaking a fist.

Nagini slunk back into the darkness. Maybe if she asked, her master would bring her a nice piglet.

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Sesphie made sure that Master's pet was truly gone before she continued to the meeting. She didn't understand why Master's pet was so terribly stupid, but it wasn't her place to ask. Their allegiance to Slytherin protected them; the castle always alerted them when Nagini was hunting.

The house-elf slid several hundred feet down a steep tunnel, landing in an immense pile of discarded clothes and bedding. Dozens of house-elves watched her, their lizard-like claws allowing them to comfortably cling to the sheer rock surfaces of this cave.

"Sesphie, how goes our Little Master's education?" asked the Eldest in the language of house-elves.

"Very well, sir. He is learning many important magics."

"Will he be returning to the Hogwarts?"

Sesphie's ears drooped. "I know he wishes too. He does not feel safe here." Her head bowed in shame. She had been given the great honor of being the Little Master's personal elf, and she had failed to make him feel safe and at home, and now he would leave them.

The Eldest sighed gustily. "Little Master is very important, not only for is own sake. He helps keep the Master whole. We must make him accept what it means to be Slytherin."

"We will _make_ him stay! Until he understands!" another elf said.

"The Great Serpent does not want him to leave," murmured a female nearly as old as the Eldest.

Another said, "The Master is planning to find the Little Master a special friend of his own. Maybe that will help him understand."

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Harry took a small, polite mouthful of his lobster bisque. The food here was always delicious, even better than Hogwarts. Though the house-elves had yet to master pizza. The closest they had gotten was a rather thin, though tasty, quiche.

"I have been speaking with our Patron, who is reluctant to allow you to leave for long periods of time. I have entered into some lengthy negotiations on your behalf, which I am certain you appreciate."

Harry took a bit of his bread so he wouldn't have to reply.

"One of the conditions for your return to Hogwarts is that you take a familiar."

"I have a familiar!" He objected.

"You have a pet," the Dark Lord corrected. "A true familiar acts as a partner, allowing its master to reach greater magical heights." Nagini's head poked over the edge of the table. Her tongue flicked out, stealing a shrimp.

"I like Hedwig," Harry said stubbornly.

"I'm sure you do," Voldemort said in a patronizing tone. "But the bird is not capable of bonding with you on the level that a true familiar is. Surely you've seen the advantages that Fawkes affords Dumbledore?" he said.

Now, Harry was seriously tempted. Nagini seriously creeped him out, but Fawkes was smart and powerful and just _brilliant_. Sure, Harry loved his owl, but Fawkes had helped him battle the basilisk, and had saved his life with his tears.

_Besides_, he reasoned, _I don't want to give him a reason to off Hedwig._ "So, how do you get a familiar, anyway?"

"You will perform a ritual that—for lack of a better term—sends a request into the aether. Beings who are interested in a potential bond will respond to you. This particular ritual is only available to wizards of great power."

"Why?"

"The Rite drains an enormous amount of power. This power is both a beacon and a gift. It enables these creatures to meet with you in order to make their decision."

That sounded rather exciting—and scary.

Voldemort drew a large book from the air and handed it to Harry.

Though long and wide, the book was quite thin, containing perhaps fifty sheets of beautifully illuminated vellum.

"Read over that, and we shall begin preparations tomorrow."

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One week later, Harry fidgeted impatiently while Voldemort examined the runes Harry had painted on his own body, carefully following the directions in the book.

The supplicant—in this case Harry—had to spend day in fasting and meditation. He had a rune representing thirteen qualities (one for every lunar month) that he wanted or needed in a familiar painted on his skin. Some of these he chose, and some had been 'inspired' by his meditation. Sesphie had escorted him through the immense gardens and greenhouses, allowing him to choose a variety of offerings for his prospective familiar.

Voldemort's pale fingers twitched a hair's breadth from Harry's skin as he read each rune.

"Protection, strength, friendship, loyalty, kindness, laughter—really, Harry, you are looking for a familiar, not a buddy with whom to pub crawl."

Harry wrinkled his brow at the Dark Lord's strange diction, but replied, "It's my Rite. I get to pick."

Voldemort sighed. "Well, you should certainly pass your Ancient Runes OWL, at any rate."

Harry clambered onto the immense stone slab and seated himself in the center, careful not to disturb any of the piles of herbs. There was calendula for joy; camellia for admiration, perfection, and luck; clover for more luck; cattail for peace; white chrysanthemum for truth; fern for sincerity; iris for faith, hope, wisdom, and valor; and many more. And, of course, holly—his wand wood—for good will, defense, domestic happiness, and foresight.

The sun had soaked into the stone, making it uncomfortably warm. Harry picked up a tiny silver knife and pricked his finger, grimacing as he squeezed several fat, bloody drops into a stone bowl. He poured spring water—he'd collected it himself last night—into the bowl, and picked up a feather. Using the feather as a brush, he painted more runes in circle around him, chanting softly under his breath. Rather than fixing his mind on any one animal or even type of animal, he filled his mind with memories of many different animals. Fawkes, the thestrals he had seen for the first time this year, Hedwig, Buckbeak, Padfoot, Moony, basilisks, Snidget's—all of these through his mind as he painted.

Voldemort watched proudly as his Heir painted the final symbols. Of course, the boy had no idea that this was a Great Rite, and was usually attempted by adults in their thirties or forties, if at all. The average wizard simply hadn't the control until then.

Of course, his Heir was no 'average' wizard. Barely fifteen, and the great stone altar hummed with power as the boy slopped bloody water across the stone, chanting to himself. The boundary was thinning, and interested eyes were watching.

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Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 16! Kristina phoenix177 Ivy Tia Evans Susie ares1234 Mystical Marauder Flying Bears haruhikitty1991Sarah R Potter fifespice K margaret I-see-thestrals sparrow OrionLuckyStar leosands Kristina Vallery Malone JuMiKu devil8duck 

K, thanks so much for the thoughtful review! I have strongly based my Lord Voldemort on the one in KrystalRoze's series. She's on my list of favorite authors.

devil8duck: Thanks for the nice, long review! I love those. I generally like a snake for Severus, but if it was his form, he'd be Heir. My very favorite Severus animagus form is a hedgehog, though it wouldn't work in this story. I really like your other suggestions though. I had fun with the pjs—I'd actually been thinking for months about how to have Narcissa 'help' LV shop.

Margaret: Always exciting to have a new reader! Glad you are enjoying it. You know, my grandmother AND step grandmother are named Margaret, my cousin is named Margaret, and another cousin just married a Margaret. I try hard to keep the chars IC—Severus is hard! I just try to always use big words with him, and that helps. ;)

Sparrow: I love writing Hedwig and Crookshanks. They are some of my favorites. Actually, male lions don't do anything but get the lionesses pregnant—they don't even hunt! Not very Harry. I like the bird idea, too.

Ivy: Glad you enjoyed the recs.

320 and I'll update!


	18. Getting to know you

Harry tossed a handful of fragrant incense into the tiny brazier and lay back on the stone. Letting his mind drift as the book had suggested, he stared up at the clouds. Gradually, he realized that all of the clouds had lumpy, vague animal shapes, like the animal crackers Dudley used to get for his afternoon snack. The clouds floated down—or maybe Harry was floating up. It wasn't terribly important, really.

The clouds changed, becoming tinted with brilliant pinks and golds, like a sunrise, and eerie blues and purples, like twilight. Harry could hear a variety of noises: padding feet, beating wings, hisses, and snatches of eerie song. Dozens of presences reached out to him, touching him briefly before falling back. And above it all, Harry could sense a massive power, like a poised tsunami. He knew he was safe in its shadow.

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Voldemort watched as his Heir's body slowly went limp as Harry's spirit went questing for its partner. He could sense the power of their Patron observing the Rite, deterring unsuitable applicants.

---

Harry played happily in the sand. He had wandered away from the Dursleys and stumbled upon this strip of uninhabited beach. He was building a house for him and his _real_ family to live in. Even though he didn't have a fancy shovel or bucket like Dudley, his perfect castle took shape under his careful hands. He found himself add towers and pretty stained glass windows, just like in the big church they had visited in London.

One of the other children added a picture of a stained-glass window that was all black with tiny silver dots and a crescent moon. Harry studied it thoughtfully for a moment before rubbing it away. It was pretty, but it didn't match his castle.

Someone else added a flag. It had a scary picture of a skeleton. Not a person's skeleton, but an animal with lots of sharp teeth. Like a shark. Harry yanked the flag from his castle and threw it way. He didn't like that at all.

More and more kids visited, trying to add things to Harry's castle, but none of them were quite right. Harry was adding a courtyard to his castle. It had a high stone wall, and a flagstone floor. It needed something, but Harry wasn't sure what.

A stone spur thrust up through the ground. Harry frowned, not liking the mess in _his_ courtyard. The stone wiggled like Jell-O, finally settling into a new shape. Now, six monkeys poured each other an endless stream of water. Harry laughed and clapped his hands, delighted with his new fountain. The monkey poised on the top of the tree had his tongue out-stretched to catch the sparkling liquid that gushed from the jar he held. One monkey stood on tip-toe to catch the falling stream. Another monkey was frozen mid-leap trying to avoid the splashing water.

The courtyard looked much better now. There was a big apple tree, perfect for climbing, which Harry eagerly tested. He snagged himself an apple. It was small, just the right size for his hand, and the yummiest apple he had ever had. Stuffing several apples in his pockets, he explored his castle. It was full of wonderful things that _he_ had made, and lots of surprises, too. There was a big pool, just like he imagined, but he hadn't thought of the giant lily pads big enough for him to sit on (he tried that, too), or the blue and gold fish that swam in the water and nibbled at his toes. A little girl his own age sat on one of the lily pads, and gave him a wave. He waved back, admiring her pretty multi-colored hair.

Nice and cool from his swim, Harry went looking for his playground. It was his _own_ playground with swings and monkey bars and no other kids to push him down or take his turn. Monkeys—real ones this time—with brilliant red-gold fur and black tails leapt from the bars to the trees and back again, pausing to applaud him with approving shrieks as he hung from the monkey bars by his knees. Birds in a rainbow of colors swooped about, performing their own acrobatics for his amusement.

He watched the birds and monkeys play for a while, eating berries from the bushes that grew around the park, staining his face and fingers purple. Snack finished, Harry decided to have another go on the swings. He pumped his legs harder and harder, swinging high like he'd always dreamed of doing. Hearing laughter, he turned and saw a pretty lady swinging with him. She was a lot older than him, though not as old as Aunt 'tunia. She was a lot prettier than his aunt too. She had a headdress sort of like the Indians on the telly, but the feathers were blue and green and gold and purple. Her eyes were slit-pupiled, like a snake's, which seemed pretty cool to Harry. She was wearing a mask of scales around her eyes. They were all rainbowy, like Aunt 'tunia's opal earrings. He couldn't see the string that held the mask on—the scales seemed to melt right into her skin. Maybe it was fancy make up, like they did in the theatre.

She grinned at him, and said, "Ready to jump, Harry? We're so high up, I'll bet we'll fly!"

Harry beamed back, and let go of the chains at the very tippy-top of his swing. Harry and the pretty lady fell and fell. They saw rainbow-tinted clouds, and strange birds, and even a dragon! It roared at them, which scared Harry until the pretty lady roared back. A cat with wings swooped by them, looking like any old ginger tabby accept for the cream-colored wings on its back. It circled them, chirping like a bird, and zoomed off. They punched a hole in a cloud as they fell through it, and as Harry looked up, a giant snake poked its head through the hole and watched them fall. It had a hood like a cobra, but it was bright blue, like the sky, and had a silver tummy.

The sun was setting as they fell through the leafy canopy of an immense forest. They had slowed down, and were now drifting downwards. Harry bumped into an immense snake that was pretending to be a tree limb. It gave him a gentle poke with its snout, dislodging him from the tree so he could continue his downward journey.

It was nighttime when they landed on an immense tree branch. Uncle Vernon could have easily driven his car on it, it was so wide! The pretty lady was much older now, but still so very pretty! Harry knew with absolute certainty that she was the oldest person he had ever met. Her feathers were all silvery now, with just hints of their former rich colors.

She picked Harry up and carried him to a mossy nest. Laying him down gently, she covered him with a blanket of feathers, or maybe it was a cloud. Harry was so sleepy, it was hard to tell. The pretty lady petted his hair gently hummed a soft song as he drifted to sleep.

---

Voldemort leaned forward eagerly, feeling the power of the Rite crest and hover for one endless heartbeat. He caught the scent of incense and the sound of musical laughter—no, _giggling_—as the power dissipated.

His Heir had slipped from his deep trance into a more natural sleep. He would awaken soon. Voldemort frowned, searching for the familiar Harry had chosen. He was beginning to become annoyed when he caught sight of a small, brilliantly colored inch-worm coiled on the boy's forehead. Frowning, he leaned forward, murmuring a spell to enhance his sight. The tiny creature rose up on dainty feet, spreading its wings, posing and awaiting his admiration.

The ridiculous creature got no such thing. "A quetzalcoatl," he grumbled. The glorified _worm_ had the nerve to laugh at him.

---

Harry yawned and stretched, savoring the last shreds of his strange but wonderful dream. Idly wondering at the lingering taste of apples on his tongue, he opened his eyes, only to shriek in alarm and scramble away. The Dark Lord's face was less than six inches from his own, staring intently at his forehead. Harry clapped his hands over his forehead, trying to both defend it from Voldemort and find out what was wrong. Something soft and warm took a firm grip on his forefinger. Eyes wide, he lowered his hand, staring at the marvelous little creature preening itself from its perch on his finger.

------------

Despite Voldemort's obvious disgruntlement (or perhaps because of it), Harry thought that Nahual was absolutely brilliant. Sure, she was tiny, but that meant he could carry her around with no trouble. He'd asked Sesphie to add a small, reinforced breast pocket to all of his shirts and robes, so Nahual could ride around with him whenever she liked.

Until then, Nahual seemed perfectly happy perched on Harry's head, tiny talons gripping his hair, braced like the figurehead of some fantastical ship cresting a powerful wave.

Flopping into his chair, Harry eagerly pulled all of his Care of Magical Creatures textbooks from his shelf, and began flipping through them.

Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them—The queztalcoatl is endemic to the rainforests of South America. Though its name means "bird snake" in Nahuatl (the language spoken by many Mesoamerican cultures), it is actually a type of dragon. Its feathers are an especially potent magical ingredient. There are no records of queztalcoatl every being in captivity.

The Monster Book of Monsters—Quetzalcoatl: This unique and intelligent subspecies of dragon is held sacred by the wizards of South America. These beings were considered divine by ancient Mesoamerican muggles.

The Winged Serpents: Dragons, Wyverns, and their Relatives—The quetzalcoatl is an off shoot of the subclass _Draconia_. It is more closely related to Oriental Dragons than European or African members of this group.

**Taxonomy**

**Kingdom: Thauma-Animalia  
Phylum: Chordata**  
**Class: Xenosauria _(Gr. xenostrange, saurlizard)_  
Subclass: Draconia_ (Lt.dragon)  
_Order: Musterata draconia_(Gr. musterionmystery, secret)_  
Family: Avidermadraconia _(Gr. avisbird, dermaskin)_  
Genus: Plumoteria _(Gr. pteronwing; Lt. plumafeather)_  
Species: Quetzalcoatl _(Nahuatlfeathered serpent or plumed serpent)_**

**The order _Musterata draconia_ has only 6 species world wide. Like the quetzalcoatl, all of these creatures are associated with powerful, benevolent deities. Hence, these creatures are often considered conversant in the mysteries of the divine.**

Harry paused in his reading. "Hear that? You're sacred creature. Like a cow," he added. Nahual hissed in annoyance.

**The quetzalcoatl is the only member of both its genus and family. Pictorial records of feathered dragons exist in Egypt, but this creature has been extinct for several millennia. No preserved specimens have been found.**

**Unlike most dragons, quetzalcoatl are omnivorous. Insects, fruits, birds, rodents, and fish are their primary diet.**

**Quetzalcoatl are inordinately fond of cacahuatl, a drink made by the Aztec and Mayan peoples using cacao beans, vanilla, honey, and chilis.**

"Ugh," Harry said. That sounded gross. He studied the picture of a quetzalcoatl drinking from a golden cup. The picture was part of an immense mural on a temple dedicated to the deity Quetzalcoatl.

**In fact, cacao's botanical name, _Theobroma cacao,_ literally means 'food of the gods'.**

Harry sighed. "You're awfully high maintenance, aren't you?" he said. Nahual ignored him in favor of chasing dust motes.

**Unlike mundane reptiles, dragons and their kin are capable of maintaining their body temperatures without outside assistance. However, they do not do this as efficiently as mammals. For this reason, quetzalcoatl spend a great deal of time in locations where they can absorb warmth and sunlight.**

A black and white picture captioned, "Mexico, 1910" showed an immense version of Harry's new friend basking on a rock. According to the book, this specimen was between 10 and 11 feet long. The creature focused its gaze on the camera, and fanned its wings, stirring up dust.

"Vain git," he said, looking up from the picture, only to see Nahual in an almost identical pose, her feathery wings throwing rainbows like a prism.

**Quetzalcoatl are quite vain, and will often return to locations where they have been treated with respect and admiration.**

"You're very pretty," Harry said. The tiny serpent fluttered onto his shoulder and butter his cheek with her feathery head.

Harry turned his attention back to the photograph. Most other pictorial records were drawings in the stylized style of the Mesoamerican cultures. Interesting, but more representative of the symbolism of the creature rather than its actual attributes. A strip of feathers ran down its spine, ending in a brilliant tuft on the tip of its tail. A lovely crest with eyes like a peacock's tail adorned its head. The creature in the photo raised and lowered its crest, seeming to flirt with the camera. The face was covered with miniscule scales, though the eyes were a bird's eyes, rather than a snake's. Each foot was covered with a small puff of fluffy feathers.

Even in black and white, it was achingly beautiful, and Harry's heart swelled with the thought that one had chosen him.

* * *

Sorry for the delay! I wasn't getting email from ff . net for several days, so I didn't realize how many reviews I had and I was getting lazy!

Author's note: The monkeys Harry saw were golden lion tamarin. I have a link to a picture of them on my profile.

There's also a link to the Elfwood . com picture that helped inspire Harry's vision. No, I did NOT draw it. I can draw a mean stick-person, though.

Another Elfwood pic: This is the closest I found to my version of a quetzalcoatl.

I also included a link to a fun site full of dragon taxonomies, from which I borrowed extensivly.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 17:

fifespice

Miss Fusha-Orange

Kristina

OrionLuckyStar

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Susie (I'm not sure about the age limits, but I think it's 13 or so. When you're on fanfiction . net, click on the 'log in' button at the top of the page, on the right, and follow the instructions.

tickedinpink

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Ex-Lover: Even though you didn't actually review ch. 17. Your monkey idea tickled me, so I worked it in a little!

I will be taking a month or so break from posting (not writing!). So, expect an update about the beginning of November. Remember to post reviews or private message me any suggestions for revision!


	19. Letters and Old Friends

Harry raptly watched Nahual eating a (relatively) immense meal. A lovely bone-china plate about the size of a galleon held soft-bodied grubs and a slice of apple. A soft hooting noise caught his attention. "Hedwig!" he said, rushing over to his window. Wishing the holes were bigger, he petted his owl as best he could.

"A letter," he whispered excitedly. He managed to touch one fingertip to the scroll tied to Hedwig's leg. Resting his forehead against the perforated stone, he sighed. "I really should have explained the window situation to them," he muttered.

Nahual glided to the window, chirping inquisitively as she wriggled through one of the holes. Hedwig back-winged in alarm, puffing up to nearly twice her normal size and making angry hissing noises.

"Hedwig, don't!" Harry shouted, trying to catch the tip of Nahual's tale and pull her away from the angry owl. Nahual merely flicked her tail out of his reach and skittered up the wall, clinging at eye-level with the enraged raptor.

---

Hedwig shrieked threateningly at the snake in her boy's room. True, she could not get in there to protect him, but the snake didn't need to know that.

To her shock, the intruder actually left the safety of the stone wall, perching right at eye level. Hedwig paused in her threat display, cocking her head to study the strange creature. It was scaled like a snake, but also feathered like a bird. The eyes were clearly avian, but the shape of the head indicated venom.

Nahual introduced herself, and politely asked what business Hedwig had with her familiar.

Hedwig rather hotly replied that that was _her_ boy in there, and she did not appreciate interlopers.

Nahual acknowledged Hedwig's righteous ire. A wonderful boy like Harry certainly needed such a fierce protector.

Hedwig smoothed her feathers, and explained that her boy was indeed wonderful. But many people wanted to hurt him.

Bobbing her head in agreement, Nahual explained that she had been sent from very far away to look after Harry. Such a special boy need special protectors. Especially since his two-legged guardians seemed to be doing such a poor job.

Hedwig squawked in aggravated agreement! Her boy had been beaten and kidnapped and no one made sure he ate properly...

---

Harry watched in open-mouthed astonishment as Nahual and Hedwig settled in for a long gossip session.

---

After twenty minutes of struggling, swearing (on Harry's part), and squawking (from Hedwig), the three had managed to work the loosely rolled scroll into the window. Harry had to hold some of the torn edges together, but it was mostly legible.

**Dear Harry,**

**We received your letter. Thank Merlin you're all right. I know something about pureblood inheritances, being one myself, and I can tell you you're probably safer than you've even been in your life. Sick, isn't it?**

**Whatever he said about your mum, don't let it bother you. She was a wonderful, smart, and kind person, and nothing will change that.**

**Tell him you need to practice for Quidditch next year. Slytherins are very competitive, so he might let you. Check out the lay of the land around you. It might help you figure out where you are.**

**I know you're smart and resourceful, but DON'T try to escape on your own. I'm sure he's got some remarkably nasty security. Merlin knows what kind of creepy shit he's got crawling around there. And you'd be surrounded by jealous Death Eaters who'd love a chance to off their lord's heir. **

**Your heritage doesn't change who YOU are, Harry. Look at me! I come from a family of mass-murdering psychopaths!**

**Play nice with the other kids, much as it sucks. Albus told me you were almost sorted into Slytherin. Use it! Lion in snake's skin, and all.**

**Love always,**

**Sirius**

* * *

---Several hours earlier---

Severus slipped into Grimmauld place, exhausted. Voldemort had cancelled his lessons with Harry for the last several days, instead having him work on several complex potions. He'd barely slept for more than two hours at a time, catching catnaps during the various potions' resting stages.

Heading for the kitchen in desperate need of tea—or better yet, coffee—he paused at the sight of a lovely snowy owl picking among the shards of shattered crockery spread over the kitchen floor. Sirius was scribbling frantically on a scroll.

"Is that Harry's owl?" he asked.

"Yup," the scion of one of the most powerful families in magical Britian replied eloquently. "She brought a letter from Harry."

Severus looked at the owl in awe. "How did she get through the wards?"

"No idea," Black said.

"What does he say?"

Black reluctantly relinquished the letter.

"He certainly has a chin up attitude, doesn't he?" Severus said thoughtfully.

Black nodded, looking miserable. "He doesn't want us to worry."

"Has anyone told parts two and three of the Trio?"

Albus joined them at the table. "No. They would only worry, or perhaps go on some sort of rescue mission. Eat," he scolded gently, placing a large bowl full of thick stew in front of Severus.

Black said, "So how goes life at Chez Snake?"

Severus dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and said, "Remarkably well, actually. Harry is advancing quickly in both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. I am teaching him fencing, and the Dark Lord is teaching him to swim. Harry is eating and sleeping well, and his health is much improved." He darted Albus a side-long glance.

"What about Hogwarts?" Black asked, leaning forward eagerly.

"He spoke of some sort of arrangement with the family Patron. Apparently, it is reluctant to let Harry leave."

"What kind of arrangement? Why doesn't it want him to leave?"

"The Dark Lord did not share those details. I think Harry's youth and the poor physical condition he arrived in are important factors in the Patron's reluctance." Albus resisted the urge to squirm guiltily as two dissapproving looks were pinned on him.

---

Sirius peeked into the door of the small upstairs parlor that had become the children's study area. Dumbledore didn't want Ron and Hermione informed of the truth of Harry's situation. But Sirius figured they were owed at least that; they'd done more to keep Harry safe than anybody, except maybe Snape (though Sirius would rather kiss Kreacher's warty arse than admit it).

Ron was doodling listlessly on scroll, and Hermione was paging through a thick, dusty book. Sirius closed the door quietly behind him, then cleared his throat. Flopping onto a dusty settee, he said, "Dumbledore doesn't want me to worry you with too much information," he tried to moderate his sarcasm, he really did, "but I think you deserve to know. But you have to swear to keep this between you, and you have to trust us to deal with this." Both nodded eagerly.

Sirius braced himself, hoping he was making the right choice. "Earlier this summer, Voldemort kidnapped Harry. He's fine," he rushed to say, as the two blanched. "He managed to sneak a message out. Somehow, Voldemort's made Harry the Heir of Slytherin."

"The Heir...so he's Lord Slytherin now," Ron said, looking frightened.

"Heir...lord...what are you talking about?!" Hermione demanded, her brown eyes huge and afraid.

Sirius decided to grossly simplify the situation. He was no Ravenclaw, after all. "Some of the really old families have a...ah...unique status in the magical world. The heads of these families have the title of Lord or Lady. Slytherin's one of them. The founder of the house made it a requirement that nobody could become Lord unless they chose an Heir. And Harry's it."

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured.

"The good news is that Voldemort can't hurt his Heir. So Harry's safe from him."

"Is it because he's a Parselmouth?" Hermione whispered.

"Probably," Sirius said. It was as good an excuse as any. "Don't let on that you know, to _anybody_ except Harry. And don't talk about it unless absolutely necessary. Look, if you can't deal with this, that's your choice—but decide now. Harry doesn't need to go through that crap."

Neither of the pair rushed to affirm their eternal friendship to Harry. Sirius tried not to feel disappointed.

* * *

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers! 

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Shadow Lighthawk--Extra thanks for the long, wonderful review!

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* * *

Shameless pandering for reviews! I'm going to drop the quota for this chappie, but everytime I get a review I get inspired to write! So if you like the fic, keep me going! 


	20. Traitors & Family

"But, my Lord—," Wormtail whimpered.

"Are you questioning me?" the deadly soft voice asked.

"No, my Lord!"

"Amelia Bones will be leaving her office in the next twenty minutes. I suggest you hurry."

Five minutes later, Peter was hunched at table outside of a tiny cafe just across the street from the Ministry building. Bones' path to her lunch meeting should take her right past him. He hoped it did. His Lord was not tolerant of failure—even failures due to uncontrollable circumstances.

Bones stepped from the entrance, digging through her immense handbag. Peter forced himself to sit up. Squaring his shoulders, he took a sip of his coffee, trying to appear relaxed.

Heaving a gusty sigh, Bones glanced up. Once the way was clear, she began crossing the street, occasionally peering into her handbag as she continued to search. Finally, she extracted an immense hat from the bag, and, as she settled it on her head, happened to glance up and catch Peter's gaze. Her face hardening, she secured her hat and began moving purposefully through the crowd. Had he not been awaiting such a reaction, he may not have realized she was coming for him. Not bothering to pay his tab, Peter began hurrying away.

"Seize that man!" Bones shouted. "_Petrificus Totalus_!" Peter dodged, and the spell caught the boy selling copies of the _Daily Prophet_ on the corner. Dodging down an alleyway, Peter hissed a spell that filled the alley with an oily, foul-smelling fog. Under this cover, he gratefully took refuge in his rat form and scurried into a drain, leaving the sounds of cursing and coughing behind him.

* * *

Dumbledore sipped his tea and stared at the collection of pictures before him. Lily Evans, her face screwed up in comical concentration as she practiced the levitation charm. James Potter laughing as he stuck breadsticks up his nose. Severus Snape grimacing as he examined a dried toad, its desiccated foot held fastidiously between thumb and forefinger. 

The previous generation was arrayed above them. Juliette Evergreen next to Garrett Potter. Eileen Prince and Katerina Montclair flanking a brooding Tom Riddle. He'd managed to locate pictures off all of them in their first year at Hogwarts in the library's dusty archives.

And of course, Harry, the point of the inverted pyramid he'd constructed. Dumbledore berated himself once again. How could he have failed to notice how pale, how thin, how wary the boy was? He'd known the boy's family situation wasn't _ideal_, of course. But he hadn't troubled himself over-much about it. After all, what else was he to do?

_I had the same excuses when Tom Riddle kept asking to spend his summers at Hogwarts.._

Contrary to popular belief, Harry was no clone of James Potter. He had the messy hair and the aristocratic cheekbones, but that raven-wing black hair and the chin were certainly Severus's. He had Lily's perfect nose, which she'd gotten straight from Tom.

He supposed that no one, not even he, had looked past the dark messy hair and the round glasses and the Gryffindor tie.

* * *

Petunia Dursley carried the roast outside and set it on the table. "Lovely, Pet," Vernon said, theatrically sharpening his carving tools. Since Marge was visiting, the small family had decided to enjoy one of the last lovely evenings of summer, and eat dinner outside. 

"So much nicer without that horrible boy!" Marge said jubilantly, passing her plate to Vernon. Petunia looked at the overdone roast, mangy flowerbeds, and disease-riddled roses. Perhaps the boy was more useful than she'd thought.

"Enough of that boy. On to this delicious meal!" Vernon said, forking up a bite of the dry meat. Frowning, he ladled gravy over his plate.

"Mum, I'm hungry!" Dudley whined. She'd limited him to a slice of roast and a few small potatoes, filling most of his plate with steamed broccoli.

Marge heaved several enormous slices onto Dudley's plate. "Growing boy has got to eat!" she said, ruffling his hair. Ignoring the affectionate gesture, Dudley began chowing through his now-immense serving.

"But his diet..." Petunia protested feebly. The two rotund siblings looked at her. Sighing, she gave up. She'd just have to take Dudley to the gym every day after Marge left.

"What is, boy?" Marge asked. Ripper was staring towards the street, whining softly. An icy breeze blew through the garden, and the dog yelped, diving behind Marge's chair.

"It's cold," Dudley complained, his arms covered in gooseflesh. Petunia rubbed her own pimpled arms.

"Nonsense, the weather's lovely," Vernon argued, though he looked a touch uneasy.

That frigid wind blew again, and Ripper screamed. Literally _screamed_, as though in agony. The massive dog fled to the opposite end of the garden, clawing madly at the wooden fence.

Petunia whipped her gaze from the maddened dog, a shadow dragging at the edge of her vision. The late afternoon sunlight suddenly seemed thin and wan. "Dudley, get in the house," she squeaked, backing that way herself. For once not arguing, Dudley ran for the house.

"What's all this bother, Petunia?" Marge said. "Ripper, hush up!" The dog tore aside a board and squeezed through, leaving the fence covered in bloody spittle.

"It's them, Vernon!" Petunia shrieked, huddled inside the doorway. "Get inside!"

"What are you on about?" Marge said irritably, crouching by the hole her dog had torn through the fence. "Ripper! Come to Mummy, sweetums." The shadows began to thicken, looming over the obese woman as she called for her dog.

"Marge, in the house!" Vernon yelled, squeezing past Petunia through the doorway.

"Marge!" Petunia screamed. Marge turned, her irritated expression turning to one of horror. Her mouth stretched open in an endless, silent scream, her ruddy face blanched corpse-white. She hung suspended in an impossible position, frozen as she fell forward—as though some invisible _thing_ was holding her. Finally, the body slumped to the frozen, brittle ground, and the cold fled the garden.

---

The ambulance had come and gone, taking Marge's body with it. They had wanted to take the Dursleys in to treat them for shock, but Petunia had adamantly refused. She had felt that thing's power testing the boundaries of the house. Something had denied it entrance.

_Lily's sacrifice_, a small voice whispered. They had put Dudley to bed, and now sat huddled on their sofa, wrapped in three wool blankets, trying to will the shivering to stop.

A long-awaited knock at the door. Clutching her blanket close, Petunia crept to the door, peering fearfully through the peephole. A familiar bearded face greeted her.

"We must speak, Petunia," that gentle old voice said. Wordlessly, she opened the door. The wizard entered, his royal purple robes with their embroidered green and gold birds making her house look dull and tired.

Waving his wand, Dumbledore conjured a large green chair and settled himself comfortably. Waving his wand, a silver tea service appeared. "Tea?" he offered. The two Muggles shook their heads. The old man poured himself a cup.

"Tonight you were unfortunate enough to be visited by a Dementor. These are very Dark creatures that feed off of human despair. They usually guard Azkaban, our prison."

"What were they doing here?" Petunia demanded.

"We aren't quite certain—," Dumbledore began.

Vernon interrupted, "They were looking for that freak boy, weren't they!" Dumbledore, taken aback by the venom in the man's voice, blinked a bit.

"We aren't certain how one slipped from Ministry control. It is possible that it was sent here to harm Harry. We simply don't know."

"You said we'd be safe from your world." Petunia whispered accusingly.

Dumbledore frowned at her. "Lily's sacrifice kept Harry safe. Because you and your son share Lily's blood, the magic of her sacrifice was reinforced and strengthened when you gave Harry houseroom. But without Harry's presence," now he gave her a cold look, "those protections began to fail. He wasn't here long enough to renew them before he was...taken."

"Well, bring that brat back here, then!" Vernon demanded, a note of hysteria in his voice.

"I'm afraid that's not possible at this time." Dumbledore stood to go.

"You can't just leave us like this!" Petunia said shrilly.

"I will do what I can strengthen the wards. One of our agents will be watching your home at all times. I'm afraid that's all I can offer, Mrs. Dursley. We have a war to fight. And a missing boy to find." With that, the old man vanished. The tea set and chair he'd conjured exploded in clouds of twinkley smoke that vanished before they touched the ground. Petunia found herself vaguely grateful that the smoke hadn't stained her carpet.

Numb and exhausted, the pair crept into bed. Petunia fell into a restless sleep.

_Beautiful green eyes stared at her. A cloud of dark red hair surrounded a vague suggestion of a face._

"_You denied him your protection, Petunia. Now I deny you mine."_

"_Don't! Lily, don't, please! My boy, don't let them hurt my boy!"_

_The spectre's voice was cold and pitiless, the way Lily's had never been, not even when Vernon had spat on her at their mother's funeral. "You should have thought of **my** boy, then, dearest sister." The voice laughed coldly. "You will need him soon, and you will be denied. As he was denied."_

"_Lily, I'm sorry! God, I'm so sorry!"_

"_You will be. Eternally."_

Petunia awoke sobbing. She hid her face in Vernon's shoulder. Usually his manly scent comforted her. But tonight, he smelled of fear.

---

"Dementors? How?" Sirius whispered, pale and shaking.

Albus shook his head. "I have no idea."

Remus asked, "Why weren't we alerted before Ms. Dursley was killed?"

Albus concentrated on his tea.

"Fletcher," Sirius hissed. "I told you he was incompetent! Goddamnit, why don't you ever _listen_?"

"Sirius, calm down," Remus soothed, gently squeezing his friend's shoulder. Sirius shook off his hand and stood.

"Know what? I think I'm glad Voldemort took Harry. Merlin knows what would have happened if he hadn't."

Albus rested his face in his hands as Remus followed his friend from the room. Merlin help him—Sirius was right.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm now concentrating on editing and slightly revision chapters 5-8. So, let me know if you have any questions or concerns you'd like addressed! 

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	21. King's Cross

Note: Chapters 1, 5, 6, and 7 have been reposted as of 11/17/06. 5 and 6 have a few new paragraphs, and 1 and 7 just have minor editing.

In case I haven't mentioned this before, check out my profile for links to resources I used in this story. I also have a list of all of the C2s that recommend _Heir of Slytherin_. Thanks!

This fic will begin to remerge with the canon at this point. I will do my utmost to avoid recounting too much of OotP. Let me know if there's too much or too little information. Unless something in the story contradicts it, assume the events are as told in OotP.

* * *

Harry stood behind his chair at the small table, waiting for Voldemort. There was one elaborate place setting for him, with three spoons, four forks, and two knives. As usual, the Dark Lord's place setting was limited to a single goblet. This one was beaten gold, worn smooth from use, with a vague suggestion of a wave pattern etched into the metal. 

Forcing himself not to fidget, Harry waited impatiently for his 'host' to arrive. Sesphie had presented Harry with an engraved invitation to this 'dinner party', to which he had to properly reply. Sevilitee was always chirping, "Practice makes perfect!"

Voldemort entered the room and took his seat. Harry followed suit, carefully spreading his napkin in his lap. A house-elf ladled a serving of vegetable soup into Harry's bowl. Frowning, the elf added a few more carrots before backing away from the table.

Harry took a precise sip and said, "It's wonderful. Thank you." The house-elf beamed. Mr. Sevilitee had scolded him for addressing the 'help', so Harry took special pains to do as often as possible. To his disgruntlement, Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

As the house-elf was removing Harry's empty bowl, Voldemort said, "As we have discussed, you will be returning to Hogwarts on September 1st." Smiling faintly at Harry's jubilant grin, he added, "However there are further conditions."

Keeping his tone polite, Harry said, "Like what?"

"Firstly, I expect you to receive at least an Exceeds Expectations in all of your courses. If I feel you are not fulfilling your potential, I will make other arrangements for your education."

Harry nodded glumly. Maybe Hermione's homework diary would come in handy after all.

"Secondly, you will wear this," the Dark Lord said, placing a ring on the table. Harry picked it up and examined it. Blooming roses, carved from bone, each held a tiny gem nestled in its centre.

"It's awfully girly," Harry said dubiously.

"It is a potent artifact, and will provide you with certain unique protections."

"Like what?" Harry asked, sliding the ring onto his right ring finger. Feeling a pinch, he pulled at it, only to find it seemingly welded to his skin. "It won't come off!"

"Only your lawfully wedded husband can remove it," Voldemort said.

"My **WHAT**?!" Harry yelped, yanking desperately at the ring.

"One of our ancestors made it to guard his wife. He bespelled it so that no one else could remove it."

"Unless there is something really fucked up you're not telling me, I'm never going to have a 'lawfully wedded husband'!"

"Of course not. I suppose you'll wear it for the rest of you life, then."

Harry glared at him, struck speechless.

* * *

On last evening of August, Harry slid his completed Potions essay into his scroll case. He'd been done a week ago, but then he'd come across a few scraps of additional information he wanted to add. _Hermione would be so proud_, he thought, grinning. He couldn't wait to see them tomorrow. 

He glanced up, his good mood fading a bit. Sesphie's ears drooped sadly as she folded the clothes he'd be taking to Hogwarts. Giving him a tremulous smile, she hissed _§ Sesphie is finding Young Master's jumpers. But they is old and worn out. §_ Harry's eyes filled with tears as she presented him with three square pillows—the remains of his first three Weasley jumpers. He'd worn them nearly every weekend until he'd outgrown them, not minding the growing runs or unraveling sleeves. They had been stuffed, and the arms removed and the holes knitted together.

He hugged his transformed jumper from his first ever real Christmas, and gave Sesphie a tearful smile. _§Thank you so much.§

* * *

The Death Eater (Harry had no idea which one, thanks to Voldemort's glamours) set the last of Harry's three shrunken trunks into his hand cart, gave Harry a polite nod, and apparated away. Harry resisted the urge to casually throw his cloak over the trunks, feeling a bit embarrassed by his good fortune. They were gorgeous, like the expensive pieces he had seen in some of Aunt Petunia's British Museum catalogues. One was black, with inlaid patterns of a silvery wood and silver fittings, one was warm shades of honey and dark brown, and one was an off-white carved with dragons, trees, and houses in an Oriental style. It reminded him of the ivory Chinese puzzle balls he'd seen at a museum on a school field trip. If it hadn't been so large, he would have guessed it was ivory. He'd been informed that two were for clothing and the third for everything else. _

He'd rather wished he'd had a chance to investigate them away from Ron's jealous eyes.

Harry squashed that uncharitable thought, and focused on finally seeing his friends again. Ironically, this stood a good chance of being his safest year at Hogwarts yet. He dropped his trunks off with the pile of luggage being loaded onto the baggage car, and set off to explore this corner of magical London.

He'd never been to the magical side of King's Cross, except the platform itself. While the Muggle side was just a utilitarian train station, the magical side was colorful, fragrant, and exciting. Beautiful clockwork machines spat out maps if you fed them Knuts—Harry got pocket editions of Let's Go Muggle London and Must See Magical London and a constantly updating map of London's Underground and bus system. One version even gave the reader precise instructions when from the current location to the chosen destination, but frankly that struck Harry as a bit lazy. He did get the version with the You Are Here indicator. _Magical GPS_, he thought bemusedly.

There were trains going to Dublin, Paris, Istanbul, New York—all over the world. The most impressive platforms had gleaming white marble arches over their entrances, each bearing the crest of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang. The term 'trains' turned out to be a misnomer—a generic term for the seemingly endless forms of transportation. Sleds pulled by reindeer, flying carpets, steamboats that puffed clouds of colorful, sweet-scented smoke—it was amazing. While Diagon Alley was a staunchly British area, King's Cross was an international bazaar.

Tiny kiosks sold magical merchandise from all over the world, thought at greatly inflated prices. However, Harry had a generous pocketful of Galleons. Catching a fresh, delicious scent, he followed it. Tanned men unloaded a crate full of pineapples. "Straight from Hawaii! Harvested less than an hour ago!" the vendor bragged. Each load of produce was brought before uniformed Ministry inspectors, who cast a series of spells to eliminate any bugs or diseases. Harry laughed to himself when he spotted the enameled fruit pendants that the officials wore. Though he wasn't quite sure of the ranking system, he did figure out that more fruits meant higher rank. The stuffiest man had an apple, a pear, a banana, a plum, and a pair of cherries shining merrily from his cap.

After sampling dozens of strange fruits and vegetables (and slipping bits of the best ones into his breast pocket for Nahual) Harry ended up with a net bag full of fresh pineapples, muscadine grapes from the southeastern US, custard fruit from Thailand, and Chocolate Pudding fruit from Mexico. A dimpled witch smiled as she cast shrinking and preservation charms over his purchases. He finally had a chance to satisfy his pizza craving at a geniune New York pizzaria (the man behind the counter was wearing matching New York Yankees baseball cap and robes), then made his way to the Express.

He moved amoung the families, holding his his head high. For the first time, he would be traveling to Hogwarts dressed like a proper young wizard, instead of a bum.

Choosing, as usual, a compartment near the rear of the train, Harry settled in, trying to read his Ancient Runes book. Those wishing to test into the class were expected to sit the exam within the first two weeks.

"Crookshanks, come back here!" a familiar voice ordered. Smiling, Harry opened the door. The immense cat strode into the compartment and sniffed Harry all over, even trying to stuff his entire head into Nahual's pocket. The serpent peeped irritably, and the cat gave one last sniff and retreated. Seemingly satisfied, he settled onto the velvet cloak Harry had left folded on the seat, and promptly went to sleep.

"HARRY!" Two voices shouted together. Harry barely managed not to cry as he was wrapped in welcoming arms.

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Meggplant—Extra thanks for the long, wonderful review! It really got me revved up to write more! There will be a flashback in Ch. 21 showing Harry's reaction to his marks. Malfoy and Bulstrode will show up more, don't worry. I'm glad you liked the incest plotline...I think Voldemort is definitely screwed up enough to pull something like that!

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Rewrites of chapters 8, 9, and 10 in the works. Let me know if you have questions or concerns!

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	22. Sour Grapes and Sherbet Lemons

Just a note: The ring in the last chapter is NOT a prelude to slash! I love a good slash fic, but this Harry is not ready for serious romance.

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"Mum made the twins tutor me in Potions. It was brilliant! We spent the whole summer making stuff for pranks. Apparently they got an investor—they're being all hush-hush about it—and they're gonna start a mail-order service next summer. They managed to sell a few of their products to Zonkos—like these!" He passed out a few rather lumpy candies. "Try one, they're great!" Hermione eyed the sweet suspiciously, but Harry popped his in his mouth. Something like a cross between a sneeze and a burp filled his chest, and he opened his mouth, releasing a stream of pastel-colored bubbles. Ron reached up and popped one, which chimed a musical note. "C'mon Harry, gimme some more!" Obligingly, Harry released more bubbles, and Ron managed to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'. 

Unable to contain herself any longer, Hermione said, "We got your letter, Harry. Are you really okay? What happened?" Ron's grin vanished, and he fidgeted with his faded red-and-gold tie.

Harry scrubbed his palms on his expensive new trousers, avoiding his friends' gazes. "I can't tell you much besides what I put in the letter. I think he put a spell on me so I couldn't name names."

"Just tell us what you can, mate," Ron said, giving Harry an awkward pat on the knee.

"Well, Voldemort kidnapped me and performed this Rite, and made me his Heir. It left these weird marks on me." He pulled up his right sleeve, revealing the pearlescent hint of scales. Hermione stared, but Ron recoiled violently. Ashamed, Harry tried to yank his sleeve down to cover the incriminating brand, but Ron caught his wrist and pulled it close to his face, touching the edge of the mark with one blunt finger. "Cor, Harry, that must've _hurt_," he said, horrified.

"Actually, it didn't hurt at all. I just woke up, and there they were."

----Flashback----

Hours had passed since Harry had learned of his new status as the Heir of Slytherin. He was exhausted, yet so full of nervous energy he felt slightly ill.

It was well past midnight. Despite Harry's resolve to stay awake in his enemy's lair, he was becoming resigned to his _temporary_ powerlessness. Making his decision, he grabbed a silk nightshirt from the wardrobe and shucked the fancy robe, deliberately leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Struggling with the row of tiny buttons, Harry paused with he spotted something sparkling on his belly. He scrubbed at it, becoming alarmed when it only got shinier. Twisting so that the soft candlelight fell directly on his stomach, Harry peered in horror at the multi-colored pattern on his stomach. _Scales_, he realized, his gut twisting in revulsion. _Merlin, what has he done to me?_

---End Flashback---

Ron laughed weakly, obviously relieved. "Well, they're awfully _pretty_, aren't they?" he teased. "I bet all the Slytherin girls will be _sooo_ jealous." He poked the mark gently. Harry laughed as well, relieved by Ron's acceptance and touched by his concern.

Hermione scooted closer to Ron, bending over to examine Harry's arm. "I've never read about anything like this," she said, ghosting her fingers gently over the mark. "I had the impression that ritual magic wasn't really practiced anymore."

Ron snorted. "What do you think the Sorting is, Hermione? It's not a Great Rite, or anything, but it does pretty much dictate seven years of your life."

Hermione looked indignant, but Harry was impressed by Ron's insight. "I never thought about it that way, Ron." He refastened his cufflinks. "Voldemort would say that it has something to do with the dumbing down of the magical world."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Well, _he_ says," Harry said, emphasizing the _he _(he certainly didn't want to draw Hermione's wrath on himself), "that since the Ministry was formed, a lot of magically weak people have gotten political power. They don't understand the 'great magics'," Harry made finger quotes, "so they persecute people who do. Apparently a bunch of restrictive laws were pushed through, disguised as being pro-Muggle and Muggle-born. Like the restrictions on Animagi."

Hermione had a sour expression on her face, looking for a flaw in the argument. Harry was doubly glad he'd laid that bit of philosophy at Voldemort's door.

Trying to divert the impeding tirade, Harry asked, "So, what do you two do this summer?"

Ron leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Well, this is pretty top-secret…"

Harry nodded, and cast a few privacy charms. Hermione looked shocked. "Harry, that's NEWT level material!"

Shrugging, he said, "I didn't have much to do except study. So, Ron, this summer…?" he prodded.

Ignoring Hermione's disapproval, Ron said, "Well, apparently Dumbledore formed a secret society called the Order of the Phoenix during You-Know-Who's first rise. He contacted the old members and recruited a bunch of new ones. I think Bill and Charlie are in it, but they won't say for sure." Ron looked a bit put-out about that. "They've made Snuffles' family house into their Headquarters. Creepy old dump," he added, shuddering. "We spent the whole summer cleaning it. Boggarts in closets, doxies in the curtains, it was a nightmare!"

"You shouldn't speak about Snuffles' home that way," Hermione scolded. "It _was_ pretty rundown, but it's actually quite an interesting old place. There was a lot of running back and forth, all sorts of people coming and going. And," she bit her lip, "the _Prophet_ published some horrid articles about you, Harry. They're trying to convince everyone that you're crazy, and dangerous."

Harry grimaced, "I'm not too surprised."

She nodded, lips pursed. "And if that wasn't bad enough, they've been slandering Professor Dumbledore! He's lost his Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards _and_ been demoted from Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!"

Shifting uneasily, Harry whispered, "I wonder if that's just Fudge, or if Voldemort's behind it."

Ron grunted sourly, "Could be all Fudge. Bloody moron. Of course, _Percival_ still thinks he farts roses."

Harry barely stifled a laugh, nodding soberly as Hermione patted Ron's arm consolingly. "He'll come around, I'm sure," she said.

A soft chime sounded, and Ron and Hermione stood, straightening their robes. "Prefects' meeting," Ron said, beaming. He carefully fastened his badge to his uniform.

"We'll be back in a little while, Harry," Hermione said, closing the compartment door behind her.

---

Severus heaved a sigh of relief has Harry stepped off of the train, flanked by the know-it-all and Weasley #6. Both Dumbledore and the Ministry were eager to hide the truth of the Dursley woman's death, but Voldemort had known the truth of the matter within hours of the incident. He'd had horrible nightmares of his son's soulless husk staring at him. Voldemort had assured him he was taking 'steps'. Someone had tried to condemn his Heir to a fate far worse than mere death. Needless to say, the Dark Lord was not happy.

---

"Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited," said the new Defense Professor, Dolores Umbridge. The woman sat in her seat, daintily straightening the small black velvet bow in her hair.

Harry paused in trying to blot away the Stinksap staining his new robes, feeling a twist of unease in his gut as he looked at the squatty woman. _This is not good_, his newly-cultivated suspicious side whispered.

An origami mouse skittered up his leg. Harry unfolded the paper and read, _Come see me after breakfast tomorrow_. _-APWBD_

---

Harry glared after Seamus as the other boy headed off to breakfast, still steaming over the unfounded accusations. He'd hung his head in shame during his second year, but he'd be damned if he'd do it again.

He opened one of his luxurious new trunks. It had a multitude of drawers, some as large (on the inside) as his old trunk, some miniscule. He randomly pulled out a few clean garments, embarrassed by this inexplicable largesse. Ron was eyeing the trunk with a touch of envy, but his remarks remained light-hearted.

---

"Sirius!" Harry dropped his gleaming leather bookbag to the floor and flung himself into his godfather's arms. Sirius crushed him close, then thrust him at arms' length, examining him critically. "You okay, kiddo?" he said softly.

Harry nodded, "I'm fine. I had—it was a good summer," he said awkwardly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, and bestowed a relieved smile on Harry. "I'm glad to see you're doing well, my boy," he said. "Perhaps you could tell us about it?"

Frustratingly, Harry was only able to add a few vague details to the information he'd sent out with Hedwig. He deliberately left Nahual out, though. He couldn't wait to share her with Sirius, but he wasn't sure Dumbledore would understand.

Meanwhile, Fawkes had been peering at him with a bright-eyed curiosity, trilling softly at him and ignoring Dumbledore's gentle admonishments for him to hush. Tired of being ignored, the great bird leapt from his perch and made himself comfortable on the arm of Harry's chair, seemingly oblivious to the small whirlwind of papers he'd left in his wake.

"Hi, Fawkes," Harry said, gently petting the bird. Feeling an irritable shifting in his breast pocket, he surreptitiously cupped a hand over it, trying to hold Nahual inside.

---

Emerald—Fawkes was fascinated with his jewel-like eyes—petted him just the way he liked. Feeling a flare of infant power, he poked at the boy's chest, forcing his pointy beak between the boy's fingers. A silvery lizard-thing scampered out of Emerald's false plumage and swiped at him, puffing itself up. Posturing dramatically, the lizard-thing warned Fawkes away from her familiar.

Fawkes sniffed haughtily, informing the lizard-thing that _he_ had seen the boy first, and thusly had dibs.

The lizard-thing hissed angrily. She was a rare and magnificent Quetzalcoatl, not a lizard-thing.

Fawkes shrugged. Whatever. She was awfully runty, too. Had her mother rejected her from the nest, leading Emerald to take pity on her?

Nahual pitied Fawkes for his great ignorance. Obviously he had never seen one of her noble breed before. She had come from very far away to protect and guide this very important boy, and did not need the ponce's help. And what _was_ that awful smell? It smelled like someone had set fire to a chicken coop.

---

Seeing the phoenix rear back to strike, Harry stuffed Nahual back into his pocket, wincing as her tiny teeth bit his finger. "Here you go, Fawkes," he said with false heartiness, offering the bird one of the muscadine grapes he kept in another pocket to satisfy Nahual frequent hunger pangs. The magnificent bird's feathers immediately smoothed as he plucked the morsel from Harry's fingers, somehow looking smug as he gulped it down. Harry clutched his shirt in a tight fist, hoping to seal the fuming Quetzalcoatl in her little pocket.

Harry glanced at the adults, a big fake smile pasted on his face. Dumbledore was looking confused, while Sirius was staring at fistful of shirt Harry was clutching.

"My boy, is something the matter?" the headmaster asked.

Harry telegraphed at Sirius with his eyebrows. Though still confused, the Marauder had smuggled enough contraband in his time to know _that_ look. "Have you been feeding that bird, Albus? He about took one of Harry's fingers off to get that grape." Harry found another grape for the phoenix, who obligingly gobbled that one as well.

"They're muscadine grapes. From the States," he added. "Really sweet." He offered a few to the headmaster.

"Quite nice indeed. Though if you wanted something sweet that badly, Fawkes, you could have had a sherbet lemon." The phoenix turned his back on the offered dish, his peacock-like tale tossing it into the air with a snooty flip. Dumbledore blinked as yellow candies rained down on his desk and caught in his beard. Harry and Sirius just stared as the dish made a melodic bell tone as it hit the floor.

"Er…we're just gonna go have a little godfather and son time now, Headmaster. You…ah…enjoy your candy!" Sirius caught Harry's arm and bolted for the door while Dumbledore was occupied removing a candy that had gummed itself into his bushy eyebrow.

Hustling Harry down the winding staircase, Sirius whispered, "Harry, what _was_ that?" The man was nearly dancing with excitement.

Grinning, Harry fished the small serpent from his pocket, presenting her to Sirius on his palm. "This is Nahual. She's a Quetzalcoatl. She's my familiar. Isn't she brilliant?" Seeing a potential admirer, Nahual set aside her snit and preened, twisting her dainty form for Sirius's viewing pleasure.

"Ooooh….I've read about those. Very fierce and intelligent!" Sirius gave Harry a wink as Nahual fluttered her wings in pleasure. "So I'm guessing we're keeping this a secret from old Dumbles, eh?"

"Yeah…are you okay with that?"

"Well, there's a test I want to perform. It'll show if she's really your familiar…just to be safe, of course. Not that I would doubt such a lovely lady!" he added hurriedly when Nahual hissed at him.

"Er, okay," Harry said. Sirius pulled his wand from his pocket and murmured a few soft words. Hundreds of tiny sparks in every shade drifted between them, as though caught in a lazy current. Sirius let out a low whistle. "Impressive. A close bond and a _lot_ of power there." After the sparks faded away, Sirius nodded. "Just one more test?" At Harry's nod, he waved his wand in a wiggly motion. "Wordless, too! Pretty impressive, aren't I?"

Harry didn't have the heart to tell his godfather he hadn't felt a thing from the spell, so he just smiled. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Sirius said, "Well, you had better scoot. Don't want you to miss class on the first day!" He gave his godson another hug and smiled as his godson headed for class, his hair merrily dancing to a silent beat.

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Thanks to my lovely reviewers! 

devil8duck—I loved the fruit rating system as well. Thanks for the hints on my spelling errors. Urg, I hate when those slip by! Keep in mind that the Order has to pretend they don't know what's going on so they don't blow Snape's cover or reveal that Hedwig can get through Voldemort's wards. Besides—who says they DIDN'T have the platform staked out? And do you REALLY think Voldemort didn't have somebody in disguise at the platform, after the Dementor incident:)

Saehara—No, not a cheap prelude to slash! Just Voldemort's twisted since of humor. No serious romance of any kind in this fic.

Darth Potato—Great Screen name! Thanks for taking the time to review so many of the chapters! I am not a fan of Harry/Ginny, mainly because she is almost a non-character until book 6 when we meet the PAINFULLY STUPID chest monster. Gag me with a spoon. I'm glad the story is giving you creepy, yet warm and fuzzy feelings—that's what I'm going for! Nahual is the only really OC in the fic. I will work on the longer chapters. My goal is to update every week...but this has been a crazy month!

* * *

If you review in the next five minutes, I'll throw this handy dandy mystery item absolutely FREE! Well...not really. :) 

Question: When you review (you know you want to) tell me where you're from! I'm in Alabama, USA, the Heart of Dixie and the most beautiful state in the Union!


	23. Under Siege

I just got a new job that I love, but I have been very busy! Updates will probably slow down for a while.

_Heir of Slytherin_ is on 52 C2's. Thanks!

* * *

Draco checked his schoolbag for the fifth time that day. The copy of the confidential Ministry report was safely tucked away. With the Ministry as leaky as the Weasley's roof (here he mentally smacked himself, he did _not_ want to slip up and say that in front of Potter), it was only a matter of time before this 'confidential' report was front page on the _Daily Prophet_. Draco thought Harry really ought to know before everyone and their Kneazle did.

He watched until Harry finished his breakfast, timing his own exit to coincide with Harry's, and gave the Gryffindor a significant look. Harry nodded and followed, blending into the crowd, avoiding the searching eyes of his fellow lions with an ease Draco had to admire.

Tucked into a small alcove, Draco handed Harry the slightly battered report. "It's...look, read it when you have some privacy, all right?" He didn't want to break such terrible news right before Harry had to be in class.

Looking confused, Harry nodded. "Thanks."

---

Heeding Draco's vague warning, Harry holed himself up in a dusty window seat behind moldering curtains, casting a few privacy spells he'd learned this summer. Draco had looked almost pitying as he handed Harry the scroll. Nervously drying his sweaty hands on his trousers, he unrolled the scroll.

**Ministry of Magic**

**Date: August 10, 1995**

**Ministry Personnel:Obliviator Jeffery Millhouse**

**Master Auror Lesley Ashton **

**Auror Brook Waverly**

**Auror John White**

**Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey (Home of Muggles Petunia Dursley, Vernon Dursley, Dudley Dursley, and wizard Harrison James Potter) **

**Disturbance: Muggle Margaret Dursley found Kissed by a rogue Dementor. Muggle emergency personnel on site.**

**Obliviations: None. Muggle Healers diagnosed Ms. M. Dursley with a fatal heart attack. Dursley family exempted from Statute of Secrecy due to relationship with Mr. Potter.**

**Other actions: Search for Dementor in progress. No leads thus far.**

**Observations: Wards of Dursley family home severely damaged. Assured by A. P. W. B. Dumbledore that Mr. Potter was not in residence. Dursley family refused Muggle medical treatment.**

**Recommendations: Local magicals should be alerted. Personnel experienced with Dementors should be made available to patrol and search.**

Harry's hands trembled as he read the terrible words over and over. _Margaret Dursley found Kissed._ Dimly, Harry thought he should feel guilt, or grief. But all he felt was fear—someone had sent a Dementor after him!—and relief that the woman would never set her awful dog on him again. He clenched his jaw, remembering the horrid things the woman had said about his mother. _She deserved it_, something dark and angry inside him whispered.

* * *

Draco settled himself into a squashy green armchair. Aaron Montague and Melinda Greyson, seventh years and the unofficial but respected (and feared) leaders of Slytherin House, stood by the immense stone fireplace, waiting patiently for the House to assemble. The youngest students settled onto the floor, cushioned by rich rugs and pillows.

The traditional "You are now a Slytherin, so act like it," speech had been given after the Welcoming Feast. It was unusual, to say the least, to have another house meeting so quickly.

When the last students were seated, all fell silent, looking at the two seventh years expectantly.

Greyson said, with no preamble, "Umbridge gave her first detention tonight. Reliable sources report that several students were commanded to write lines with a Blood-Quill." She paused a moment to let that sink in. "Umbridge will be forming some sort of student organization designed to provide her with the manpower to harass Dumbledore and further her own agenda. If you are invited, you _will_ join. Otherwise, keep your heads down and your noses clean. Keep your opinions inside the House dorms. Fourth years and down, dismissed." The younger students quickly rose and scampered out.

After the door closed behind the lower years, Montague said, "I won't have kids tortured on _my_ watch. If they know we're actively protecting them, they'll be tempted to act up." He smiled fondly. "Cheeky buggers. So, us upper years are going to lick Umbridge's feet if that's what it takes. As an actual teacher, she seems pretty undemanding." He sneered. "Tempting as it is, do not go out of your way to throw the other Houses to her. Hogwarts is under siege, and we might need them. Dismissed. Malfoy, a word."

Draco's mind was spinning. A Blood Quill. Remembering Potter's little outburst in class, he shuddered. When the room was finally empty, Montague turned to him. "_He_ won't be pleased about Potter's detention," the Chaser said in a subdued voice. The Montagues, Draco recalled, were not yet sworn to the Dark Lord, but they were definitely being recruited.

Draco said quietly, "She's got a grudge or an agenda. She was definitely provoking him."

"Better and better," Montague murmured sarcastically. Tapping his fingers restlessly on the mantle, he finally said, "There's not a lot Greyson and I can do. Let us know if any of ours are setting other students up for a fall. Would you trust anyone else in the House to run interference?"

Draco nodded. "Bulstrode. She's smart and crafty, and she and Potter seem to get on pretty well. Crabbe and Goyle will do what I tell them. Keep an eye on Parkinson, she has a chip on her shoulder."

"Warn Potter. Maybe you can convince him to keep that damn Gryffindor mouth buttoned." They both snorted at the likelihood of _that_.

------------------------

Eddie Carmichael felt sick. He'd no idea the Ministry overseer would be so beyond common decency. A Blood Quill, of all things. The Ministry was moving against Albus Dumbledore, and all of Hogwarts stood in the middle. He caught the gazes of other 'in the know' eagles. They'd study their foe. Further knowledge would yield greater understanding.

---------------------------------

Harry stared pensively at his hand, sunk into a small bowl of slimy murtlap essence. Hermione lifted her wand and murmured a spell, transfiguring the bowl so it was hand-shaped and the perfect size. "Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, wiggling his cramped fingers.

"What did Professor McGonnagal say," Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged, feigning indifference. "She wasn't very helpful, blathered on about this 'not being about the truth' or some such rot," he said.

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "They're all running scared from Umbridge, aren't they?" Harry nodded.

"You've seemed...upset. About more than this," she said, gathering a little of the slimy stuff on her fingertip and smearing it gently onto the back of his hand.

Harry sighed. Leaving his injured hand in the soothing goo, he leaned over and groped under his mattress. Finally finding the now much mangled scroll, he handed it to Hermione. She read through it rapidly, then looked up. "Oh my. Harry, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine. She wasn't my aunt, you know. She was Dudley's. She didn't like me." Harry's voice got thicker as he continued, "She had this horrid dog, Ripper, he'd chase me and she'd laugh..." Hermione gently wrapped her arms around him, pressing his face into her shoulder while he cried.

* * *

The first Friday evening of the school year found Severus Snape fussing about in his small sitting room. He'd hoped to have a pleasant chat with his son (the word _son_ still made his stomach clench) but his observation of the Gryffindor Quidditch team's disastrous first practice had all but dashed that hope. Still, he'd felt a foreign delight in watching Harry chase the Snitch. True, he'd probably gotten his skill on a broom from Potter, but that keen eye and narrow focus on his objective had most certainly come from _him_. He hoarded these tiny glimpses he caught of himself in his boy.

He laid out a tray with cocoa and a few of Madam Puddifoot's special cream cakes. Her award-winning cakes could be purchased no where else, so Severus had ventured into that simpering little shop. Perhaps the treat would put Harry in a pleasant frame of mind.

His wards chimed, leaving him a few moments to complete his preparations before Harry knocked on his door.

"Come in," he said, gesturing the boy towards the small table. He noted Harry's tidy appearance with approval. Usually he was somewhere between 'street waif' and 'slovenly' unless in his Hogwarts' uniform, but tonight his new clothes were neatly tucked in, his hair still wet from the post-Quidditch shower.

The two sat in awkward silence for a moment. Severus cleared his throat and gently placed a cake onto Harry's plate. "This are Madam Puddifoot's special recipe," he said.

Harry nearly choked on the bite of cake in his mouth. "You went into Madam Puddifoot's?" he said.

"Only for the cakes, I assure you. They're remarkable enough to warrant it." Harry's speed in devouring the treat seemed to agree with Severus' opinion.

Swallowing a bite, Severus asked, "How was Quidditch practice?" he asked.

Shrugging, Harry said, "It was alright."

"How are classes?"

"They're okay."

"Did your friends have a nice summer?"

"I guess so."

Severus heaved a sigh. It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Severus frowned as his fifth year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class diligently copied their assignment from the board. Though he'd never inspired (or sought to) warm feelings in his students, the level of discomfort in the room was disturbingly high. Two of the Hufflepuff boys had their right hands bandaged. The Ravenclaws all seemed physically whole, but almost as skittish as the Hufflepuffs.

He was about to criticize the lumpy texture of one Ravenclaw's potion when a choked mewling sound caught his attention. Chauncy has somehow managed to spill his potion over his bandaged hand. His lab partner was frantically poured the neutralizing agent over it.

Severus shoved his way through the classroom, grabbed the boy's wrist and tore the bandage away, the incomplete potion burning his fingers, then shoved the wounded hand into a bowl of salve.

Chauncy was scrubbing at his face with his left sleeve, mopping away tears.

"You'll be fine," Severus said gruffly. He was never very good at the warm and fuzzy part of teaching.

A few quiet but firm instructions soon had the class back to work. Severus fetched a roll of gauze and lifted the boy's hand from the soothing potion to examine the damage. While there was only a slight reddening of the undamaged skin, the letters scored into the boy's had were lined with painful blisters. Why on earth anyone would cut letters in their flesh...Severus frowned as he read the words, I MUST NOT BE DEFIANT.

"Chauncy, Garrison, in my office!" he roared. The two boys squeaked and made for his office with an unseemly haste.

"Baldwin, you're in charge. See that everyone completes their potions and cleans up."

Slamming the door behind him, he rounded on the quaking Hufflepuffs. He ripped the bandage from Garrison's hand as well, exposing the same words.

"What is this? Are your lives so dull you must mutilate yourselves for entertainment? I know you Hufflepuffs are a pathetic, whiny lot, but this is beyond—,"

"We didn't want to!" Chauncy squeaked.

"Are your classmates bullying you? We will speak with Professor Sprout--," Severus trailed off, the hopeful expressions on the boys' faces unnerving him.

"We...we had detention with Professor Umbridge, sir," Garrison whispered.

* * *

Thanks to all of my fabulous reviewers! The people have spoken! No more individual thank yous at the bottom of each chapter.

I'll respond to any signed review. Unsigned reviews, I still love ya!

Question: What is your favorite Harry Potter book and why?


	24. Subtle Resistance

Revised: June 17, 2007. I realized that Hagrid is still on Dumbledore's mission. So Grubbly-Plank is currently teaching CoMC. I deleted the line that mentioned Umbridge inspecting his class in this chapter.

My favorite book was OotP (despite the horrible ending), because Harry was actually smart and proactive. And it had alot of Sirius. My 2nd favorite was PoA, because (again) Sirius, but also because Voldemort wasn't involved. Kind of a nice change. 3rd was CoS, because we learn about Tom Riddle and Parseltongue is just awesome.

Frequent Reader Question:

No, Harry does not know that Severus is his father. He has been told that Lily was Voldemort's daughter, though.

No, there will be no slash involving Harry in this story. No serious romances. I have nothing against those (love 'em, in fact!) but this won't be one.

* * *

Severus made a vague note to restock his supply of murtlap essence. Someone had been pilfering his stores. _At_ _least they were careful_, he mused. The thief had not added tried to disguise their pilfering by adding water to the bottle or switching labels, as so many did. Instead, the bottle had been placed behind goldenrod pollen, which he would be using in his fifth year classes next week. _They delayed discovery enough to cover their tracks, yet made certain I'd know of the shortage quickly._

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered the ingredients before him.

---

Harry settled his pile of books on one of the tables in the back of the library, wincing as he jarred his throbbing hand. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and Ron grimaced angrily, his own hands clenching into impotent fists. "That…that _bitch_," he hissed angrily. "Harry, we have to do something, we can't let her—"

"Ron, just calm down, okay? It's not a big deal—okay, it is a big deal, but we're stuck right now. Don't let it eat at you, we'll think of something."

Ron flopped into a chair, thumbing half-heartedly through his Potions textbook. Hermione and Harry, however, focused intently on their material, each taking notes in their own way.

After ten minutes, Ron stretched and said, "Oi, there, you bookworms. I'm starving. Let's go raid the kitchens."

Hermione didn't even surface from her book. Harry said, "Maybe later, Ron."

Ron grumbled and scribbled a few notes (actually unflattering doodles of Snape). "How about some fresh air? It's stuffy in here."

"In a little while, Ron."

Twenty minutes later, a decidedly cranky Ron stood and said, "Merlin, Harry, did you turn into a Ravenclaw over the summer?"

Harry fiddled with the cover of his book. Hermione, sensing his anxiety, said to Ron, "Honestly, Ronald, there is nothing wrong with being studious. Some people value their education and—"

Quietly, Harry interrupted, "_He_ said that if I didn't get an Exceeds Expectations in all my courses, he'd pull me out of Hogwarts."

Ron stared at him, his mouth tense and angry. He threw himself back into his chair and said, "So, what goes in a Draught of Peace again?"

---

Hermione congratulated Harry on his entrance into the Ancient Runes class. Ron ignored them both, immersed in creating 'flashing cards'. Harry, remembering them from his Muggle school years, had a made a few as a demonstration. Ron had quickly embraced the idea, only using flashing ink. So now the growing stack of cards flashed in a multitude of colors.

Like the rest of the school (and the magical world, judging from the _Daily Prophet_), Gryffindor was sharply divided. Approximately a quarter of the house agreed with Finnegan, avoiding Harry when possible and eyeing him suspiciously when not. Another quarter, including Neville Longbottom, sided staunchly with Harry. The bulk of the house was undecided, swayed to and fro by the venomous articles in the _Prophet_ and the arguments of Harry's supporters.

Having learned from his previous shunning during the Heir of Slytherin panic of his second year (ironic, that), Harry wasn't bothering to defend himself. Back then, he'd been frightened and ashamed and angry, but this year, he just didn't care. Things would work out, or not. He had the support of a few, and the many could just go hang.

He was, however, keeping a mental note of the ones who came up to him to offer their support. Usually it was quiet and furtive, but it was still support, and Harry valued it.

---

Harry smacked his forehand after Cho Chang left the owlery. Man, he was such a dork! She'd been nice enough to help him out, at least.

After sending Sirius's letter off with Hedwig, he tied a second letter to one of the school owls after Hedwig was out of sight. He didn't want her to feel jealous, after all. He fed the brown owl a treat, and said, "Please take this to Flourish and Blotts." The owl twittered at Harry and launched himself into the night sky.

---

**Sunday, September 8th**

Harry scowled as Ron finished reading Percy's letter. He said acidly, "Your brother has a very convenient memory, doesn't he?" Seeing Ron's misery, he forced himself to lighten his tone, "Well, if you want to - er - what is it?" He checked Percy's letter. "Oh yeah - 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent." They both laughed, though Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach. Sure, Ron was laughing if off now, but if forced to choose, which way would the Weasleys swing? Percy was blood, after all. Harry was just a stray they'd been kind enough to take in. Nobody--not even Harry--could reasonably expect them to take _his_ side.

---

That evening, smiling past the tight feeling in his throat, Harry waited for Sirius at the Gryffindor hearth.

"How're you doing, kiddo?" Sirius asked. He looked much worse than he had a few days ago, his eyes darting about restlessly.

"I'm okay. Things are--tense--here."

Sirius grimaced. "Be careful, Harry. That Umbridge woman, she's dangerous. The Ministry's looking for an excuse to drive Dumbledore out, and she's there to make one."

"I already got a week's worth of detention. I'll try to keep my head down."

"You do that. Say...Hogsmeade's weekend coming up. How about we have a little godfather/son time? We can meet in that cave."

Harry opened his mouth to discourage him, but caught the desperate look in his godfather's eyes. Stalling, he asked, "Is that okay with Dumbledore?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him?" His laugh had a slightly shrill edge.

"I think it's too dangerous. Umbridge is bound to have people watching for disobedient students." He continued quickly, forestalling Sirius' disappointment. "How about Wednesday before dinner? I've got Hagrid's class right before then. We can meet at his place. You can play with Fang."

Sirius studied him thoughtfully. "You're a lot more cautious than James."

Harry bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I mean, it's probably a good thing. I just wish you didn't need to be, that's all."

---

**Monday, September 9th **

"Hogwarts High Inquisitor?" Ron gasped, reading the paper. "What kind of rubbish is that?"

"The bad kind," Harry said grimly.

---

Harry wracked his brain for a question he could ask Trelawney. Sure, she was always predicting his death (which, he realized, was quite unprofessional), but she really was harmless, and he certainly didn't want to see her cry.

"Professor, I wanted to ask you about a dream I had last night," he blurted.

Fiddling with the filmy scarf at her throat, she blinked at him a few times. "Er, a dream, Mr. Potter?" she said.

"Yes, I—er—I was turned into a frog!" he said, seizing on the High Inquisitor's flabby face for inspiration. "There was a red frog and a green frog and a blue frog. I was purple! And then…" he groped for some terrible fate that could befall froggy-kind. "Then our pond dried up. And a big black dog—I think it was the Grim!—it came and ate the blue frog." Harry resisted the urge to shrink down in his seat. Most of these people thought he was nutters anyway. Sitting forward earnestly, he continued, "It felt so real, Professor! Does it mean anything?"

"Well, Mr. Potter, colors in our dreams are often important keys sent to us from the Beyond…" As she nattered on about what his being a purple frog meant, he could swear she gave him a look of gratitude.

---

**Tuesday, September 10th **

Breakfast began with the tension that was becoming (regrettably) the norm. Umbridge, ostentatiously wearing her new High Inquisitor badge, surveyed the incoming mail with beady eyes. As a grey-brown owl began to circle Harry, she rose to her feet and bustled towards the Gryffindor table, pig-like eyes snapping triumphantly.

"Dungbombs!" Filched shrilled. "I knew it! Brat's ordered dungbombs!"

"I'll handle this, Mr. Filch, don't you worry," Umbridge said in her twittering voice.

Professor McGonagall hurried towards her, "Really, Professor Umbridge. The students have a right to private correspondence."

Umbridge adjusted the sparkling badge on her robes with her stubby fingers. "If Mr. Potter has nothing to hide, then I'm sure he won't mind."

"That's circular logic—," Hermione began. Harry gave her a warning look.

"That's my package, Professor, and I'd prefer it remained private," he said, forcing himself to sound calm and adult.

"Now, Mr. Potter, as Hogwarts High Inquistor, it's my duty to prevent illicit items from entering the school." She held her arm towards the owl. The owl deposited its burden in the be-ringed hands. It waited patiently for a treat, twittering irritably when Umbridge ignored it. Umbridge cut the twine with a murmured spell, and eagerly tore into the brown paper.

"Potion's Journal," McGonagall read, her voice ringing through the quiet hall.

Turning quite an unbecoming shade of red, Umbridge hissed, "Finite Incantatum!" at each journal. When the spell revealed nothing, she paged through the books, finding only blank pages.

"What is this, Potter?" she snapped.

Keeping his voice calm and respectful, Harry said, "I got one over the summer, Professor. It's been so helpful I wanted to give them to my friends."

Fuming, Umbridge shoved the books into his hands and stomped away. Grinning, Harry handed one each to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. "I'm sure these will help us get ready for our OWLs," he said, keeping his tone innocent.

---

Draco pinned his Inquisitorial Squad badge to his robes. _Should've made it a rat_, he thought, thoroughly disgruntled by his position as one of Umbridge's toadies. Sure, he got to take House points (endlessly amusing, that) and terrorize the younger years. But he and the others also had to attend endless meetings with Umbridge, reporting on the smallest transgressions of the other students and drinking cups of cheap, overly sweet tea.

While most of the Inquisitorial Squad was trying to surreptitiously undermine Umbridge's efforts (it was no coincidence that many of Voldemort's followers were highly influential in the ministry), Pansy was actively aiding and abetting the enemy. Though perhaps she didn't quite get that Umbridge was, in fact, the enemy.

Draco was furiously spinning legends and tales out of whole cloth, giving Hogwarts even more poltergeists, ghosts, and secret passages than it actually had (and that was quite a few) and other mysterious beings to which all sorts of odd happenings could be attributed. They were all struggling to turn the horrid woman's attention away from Potter and onto Dumbledore and Hogwarts herself.

Of course, most of the other houses only saw the lost points and piled up detentions. Being a good guy really was thankless. Draco wondered what Potter saw in it.

---

The first year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws tried not to fidget as they read their books quietly. They all knew what had happened to Harry, after all. And if Harry wasn't safe from Umbridge, then no one was.

Umbridge fanned herself and sipped water from her glass. She really was feeling dreadful. Making a mental note to have the house elves responsible for this morning's breakfast flogged, she peered narrowly at the quiet class in front of her. She'd been so sure that most of the students and staff would show throat as soon as she applied a little persuasion, especially to their precious boy hero. While she was certainly feared, she still got very little cooperation. The younger students all said, "Yes ma'am," and "no ma'am," in soft, fearful voices, but they never came tattling to her. They replied to her questions about suspicious happenings with, "I don't know, Professor," or "Maybe it was Peeves!" A handful simply broke into noisy sobs whenever she spoke to them, which was very discomfiting.

She pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, feeling hot and dizzy.

Martin Gooseberry looked up from his book. Professor Umbridge certainly didn't look well. Her face was even rounder than normal, and flushed red. Using the short-hand his cousin Eddie had taught him for note taking (it was a convenient code, too), he wrote on the charmed square of his parchment, "Umbridge appears to be ill."

In the same code, his cousin replied, "When she hits the floor, use Ennervate. Stoke the hysteria if you can."

"Gryffs don't get hysterical; they go into foaming barbarian rages."

"That will suffice."

A few moments later, the Professor stumbled out of her chair, clawing at her throat and choking for breath.

"Professor?" piped a small voice.

Umbridge pointed her wand at her throat, but couldn't get enough breath to cast. When she fell to the floor, face mottled an ugly purple, Martin shrieked, "Oh Merlin, she's _dying_!"

"Finite Incantatum!" one brave Gryffindor shouted. Martin was quite impressed when the enhancement charms on Umbridge's hair fizzled, revealing the thinning grizzled mop.

"Enervate!" Martin called, as Eddie had instructed. Umbridge started foaming at the mouth.

This was the most interesting Defense class of the year, Martin decided.

---

Severus ignored the headmaster's disapproving stare. Usually, that stare left him feeling small and ashamed. But this time, he held the moral high ground, and he was quite enjoying it.

"Madam Pomfrey assures me that Professor Umbridge will recover. Apparently she is allergic to something in the castle."

"The dungeons are a bit mildewy," Flitwick said mildly. "Quite a few of my Ravenclaws over the years have been allergic is well." He and Severus shared a self-righteous smirk. The jolly little man had quite happily been Severus's accomplice in this act of targeted bio-terrorism.

"It is fortunate they've never become terribly ill, then," Dumbledore said, transferring that stare to Charms professor.

"Hogwarts welcomed them, didn't she?" he said. Flitwick was an elitist in his own way. For him, anyone invited to attend Hogwarts (Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were moderately acceptable) were all at least potentially worthy wizards and witches. Everyone else was second class. To him, a Muggle-born was just as good as a pure-blood. As long as they received a letter.

Poor little Dolores had never received a letter. The fact that she deigned to pass judgment on children (much less adults) who had was quite galling.

Realizing that a quiet mutiny was brewing, Dumbledore let it go. As long as everyone believed it was an allergy, then hopefully the ministry's fangs would be drawn. For a time.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews! My cat likes them better than treats! So keep 'em coming, cuz he's overweight and doesn't need more treats! 

**Harry Potter references in Pop Culture**: Send them to me! So far I have:

**House**, "When I lead the big patient rebellion, Voldemort here is the first to go." ('Voldemort' is the orderly who makes sure no one is slipping House drugs while he is in rehab.)

**Will & Grace**--Karen says, "I've recently gotten into those Harry Potter books. I always pretend to root for Gryffindors, but secretly, I love my Slytherin boys."

If you have another reference let me know!


	25. Bitter Truths

I will admit, not totally happy with this chapter. It's still a bit choppy. But it had been far too long since an update!

* * *

**Tuesday, September 10th**

With Umbridge out of the way, if only temporarily, the mood in Gryffindor was quite festive. Even those who looked askance at Harry had come to fear the woman. And most Gryffindors preferred wand-waving to bookwork anyhow.

"Maybe they'll get Snape to teach it again, like in third year," Ron said. "The man's a git, but anybody's better than _Umbridge_," he spat.

Neville listened quietly as he wrote in his new Potion's Journal. He'd never felt so included as when Harry had handed him one. Sure, everybody in Gryffindor was nice enough, but Harry and Ron and Hermione were their own group, and Dean and Seamus were best friends and tended to hang out with the Hufflepuffs. Ron was the only other wizard-raised boy in their dorm, and he had stuck fiercely to Harry since the train ride during their first year.

Like Hermione, Neville tended to have a lot more 'friends' when projects came due—only for Herbology, though, whereas poor Hermione had people pestering her for help about _everything_. Though, to be fair, none of the three had used him so.

Neville was starting to understand their dynamics a lot better. Harry, though kind and noble and brave beyond Neville's ability to comprehend it, was as painfully shy as Neville himself. In a way, he was overshadowed by Hermione's constant "I know! I know!" and Ron's loud and boisterous personality. Neville had just assumed that Harry (along with everybody else) had no interest in a clumsy, dumpy boy. He was beginning to realize that Harry had probably assumed that no one besides Ron was interested in speccy runt.

He meticulously filled out an entry for Deflating Draughts while the other three bickered about who should teach Defense and why.

"Why don't you teach it, Harry?" he asked, not glancing up from his work. "You've got the most practical experience of any student here, and the teachers are obviously to busy too take care of it."

The sudden silence made him glance up. Three gazes were pinned on him.

"Neville, that's brilliant," Hermione said.

---

**Wednesday, September 11th**

Since Professor Umbridge was ill, Snape had ungraciously (publicly, anyway) agreed to take over her detentions. He hadn't even realized that Harry had received detention from her until he'd gotten the paperwork. He hadn't seen a bandage on the boy's hand, so perhaps she hadn't dared mutilate the Boy-Who-Lived. He never thought he'd be so grateful for Harry's fame.

He'd made sure to announce to his 5th year Slytherin/Gryffindor class that Harry was to come that night for a 'special' detention. Draco had chortled and Weasley had fumed.

The other detainees had spent a grueling two hours scrubbing cauldrons with toothbrushes. Not their own toothbrushes, unfortunately, but the old ones Snape kept around for that purpose. True, most of them didn't deserve detentions, but they were Hufflepuffs, and everyone knew Hufflepuffs had perpetual diarrhea of the mouth. Besides, they needed toughening anyway.

The fact that they almost seemed cheery about the whole thing just made him crankier. He despised being the lesser of two evils. If nothing else, he would punish Umbridge for _that_ indignity.

Harry arrived promptly at 8:30 for his detention, wearing his Herbology smock over his clothes, obviously prepared for hard work. He looked surprised at the tea laid out.

"I had better hear you bemoaning the cruelty you suffered at my hands," Severus said in a stern voice as he poured Harry tea. Harry nodded, hanging his smock over the back of his chair and taking a seat.

"The other guys…?" Harry asked?

"They're _Hufflepuffs_. What do you think?"

Harry shrugged. "They seemed pretty chipper. Though even scrubbing cauldrons is better than Umbridge."

Snape caught Harry's wrist, staring at the back of his hand. Yes, the marks were faint, but they were there.

"It's fine. I put…some stuff on it, and it's fine."

"Ah. So that is where my murtlap essence went."

"Er, yeah, sorry about that."

Severus frowned sternly. "In the future, you will ask. Not steal from my stores. Those ingredients could be needed in an emergency."

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Harry, this is important. You _must_ not defy Umbridge." Seeing the boy's jaw set stubbornly, he added, "We are doing what we can. But if we use resources to defend _you_, then that limits our efforts to stymie her elsewhere."

Seeing the boy's indecision, he added, "Harry, events are moving rapidly in the Ministry. Ultimately, Hogwarts is just a microcosm of that struggle. What happens here means little in the larger picture. What is most important is that the students remain unharmed. If you continue your open defiance, others will follow, and be harmed as a result."

Biting his lip, Harry nodded.

"Drink your tea," Severus said, trying for a softer tone. The two drank tea and nibbled scones in what Severus hoped was a companionable silence.

"You did something to her. Umbridge, I mean." Harry suddenly blurted. "You poisoned her!"

"I created a potion that, when inhaled in repeated small doses, would engender an extreme allergic reaction."

The open horror in Harry's expression made something deep inside Severus cringe. "It was a carefully measured dose. She will come to no permanent harm."

"Some of the first years are still having nightmares! It must have been horrible."

"Harry, what would you have me do? Dumbledore," _plays_ _games with the wolf at the door_ "must dance to the tune that the Ministry sets, for now. She was harming students under our care," _my son_ "and we had to act. What recourse did we have, but to strike and strike hard?" Severus heard the appalling desperation in his own voice.

Harry fiddled with his fork. "She'll be okay?"

"She will recover completely," Severus assured him.

"Well, good," the boy said, his voice becoming fiercer. "She hurt those kids." Severus restrained a groan as those emerald eyes fired with righteous Gryffindor ire.

---

**Saturday, Sept. 14th **

Despite Dumbledore's disapproval, the rest of the staff showed a certain quiet appreciation for his and Filius' sabotage. Except Filch. The near-Squib's devotion to the woman was starting to approach fanaticism. It was really quite disturbing. Oblivious to Snape's role in the woman's current condition, he bemoaned the woman's ill-health. Snape, of course, sympathized with him, and even brewed special cleaning potions to eliminate the dungeon mold responsible for poor Professor Umbridge's terrible illness. Filch seemed to use them especially thoroughly in the area around his cramped little office, filling the hallway with the smell of oranges and mint.

Umbridge would be returning to her duties in a limited fashion on Monday. The other heads had spent the week cautioning their students to exemplary behavior. Sprout, in typical Hufflepuff conflict-avoidance, had simply lowered curfew to 7:30 at night. Her badgers would be in effective lock-down for fully half of each day. Sneer though he might, Snape privately admitted he might have done the same. McGonagall, unfortunately, tended to place a high value on propriety. This stopped her from giving direct commands that would reveal her less that flattering opinion of another professor. She contented herself with vague warnings and fierce stares, which only impressed those students who hadn't needed cowing in the first place.

Filius kept his jovial face firmly in place, at least in public. Nevertheless, he had instituted 'mandatory study sessions' and a series of 'projects' that took up most of the eagles' free time.

Severus had to admit that his serpents were thriving on this challenge. At least the best of them were. Draco was quickly acquiring a polish that his father had only gained in his twenties. Bulstrode was emerging from the shadows. The girl was intelligent and more than cunning, but the current situation had sparked her interest and finally caused her to use those gifts.

Silly little Parkinson tripping merrily along, ignorant of the veritable bonfire of bridges behind her. While Draco's affluent childhood had made him covetous and arrogant (not entirely bad traits), Parkinson's had made her lazy and petulant.

They had won a skirmish or two, but the war was far from over.

---

**Friday, September 20**

Following Snape's advice, Harry had been a good boy all week. He read his textbooks thoroughly, except his Defense books. Those he skimmed just enough to formulate a series of respectfully annoying questions.

Harry arrived at Snape's door at 5 o'clock, his bag crammed full of textbooks. Umbridge seemed reasonably content as long as Harry was miserable, even if someone else was inflicting said misery.

Snape opened the door, gesturing Harry towards a beat-up student desk crammed into a corner of his office. "You can study there." He offered Harry a small vial of _Erudition Memoria_, and Harry carefully measured an ounce of the potion into the crystal carafe of water. Severus noted with approval the extensive comments in the margins of Harry's books.

Promptly at 7, a house-elf arrived, quietly setting out a meal and then popping away. Severus always took care to order special meals for Harry high in vegetables and whole grains. While Harry, not being a picky eater, did eat better than many of the children (Ronald Weasley had a multi-course dinner of desserts at least once a week), Severus was not satisfied that he was getting enough truly wholesome food.

They lingered over their tea, Harry listening while Severus spoke. Severus had learned the best way to coax Harry into speaking was to speak himself, leaving many pauses but no awkward silences. After an internal debate, Severus made his decision. It was his choice, after all. Not Dumbledore's.

"Harry, I have something I must tell you. But you must promise that you will not act on this information. Trust that we are handling it." He didn't define who 'we' included. At this point, he wasn't quite sure. Wide-eyed and alarmed, Harry nodded.

"This summer…" Severus cleared his throat. Really, how _did_ one inform someone that their relative's soul had been devoured? It certainly wasn't something Lady Courtesy had ever discussed. "This summer, a Dementor visited your home. I'm afraid your Aunt Marge was killed."

"Dudley's aunt. Not mine," Harry corrected, then looked a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, sir." The boy broodingly stared into his teacup. The boy seemed more resigned than upset… "I take it that this is not news to you?"

"Er…I heard about it earlier."

Choosing his words carefully, Severus said, "You could have spoken to me about it. If you were upset."

Harry gave him a strange little smile. "I wanted to see if Dumbledore would actually tell me something _before_ I almost got killed."

Severus just stared in shock. _My son, that I am sure of._

_

* * *

_

_Please review! Reviews are like rain for the garden of my talent. _

Question: What's your favorite scene in a Harry Potter movie and why?


	26. My Fellow Conspirators

**Wednesday, September 25**

Harry sat silently, watching Sirius wolf the food he'd brought from the corner of his eye. He hung around Hagrid's hut for a half-hour or so after his Wednesday lessons. Sometimes Sirius would appear, and sometimes not. He seemed content enough to remain in his dog form, often simply leaning against Harry. On Tuesdays Harry had to hurry to Herbology, so he'd hide the stash he'd smuggled from lunch under a distinctive rock. The longer he was gone from Grimmauld place, the healthier Sirius seemed. Harry had never seen the place himself, but it had to be absolutely horrid.

"So, Umbridge seems to be pretty much ignoring me. Snape gives me detention all the time, and the Slytherins all gloat about it. It's a good time to study, really. Very quiet. I usually do my Potions homework, 'cause I can ask him questions right then. He's recommended a ton of really helpful books." Snuffles nodded wisely as he gnawed at an apple. Harry made a mental note to pick up some plastic wrap. Everything but bread, cheese, or fruit just got mangled in his pockets, even if he wrapped it in a napkin. "He told me about Marge. She's Dudley's aunt. He said some Dementors killed her this summer." Harry shuddered, his hand clutching at Snuffles' thick fur for a moment. "They had to be after me. Why else would they have been there?" Snuffles licked Harry's face, then rested his massive head on Harry's shoulder. "Professor Snape said not to worry about it, that it was being handled. I think I can trust him about this, you know? He doesn't just blow stuff off." Since Snuffles seemed to be in agreement, Harry pushed the matter to the back of his mind.

---

**Sunday, September 29**

"He said it has 'certain unique protections," Harry said, fiddling with the flowery ring.

"Yech. It's so _girly_," Ron grimaced.

"Yeah, well, apparently some Slytherin made it for his wife. So only my 'lawfully wedded husband' can remove it. He seems to find that funny."

Ron grunted. "Sicko."

"Tell me about it."

Hermione was thumbing through one of the several dozen volumes on the Slytherin family in the Hogwarts library. Harry and Ron were studying the pictures in the books, looking for images of the ring, while Hermione was using an indexing charm she'd learned to quickly search each book for mentions of rings. She'd tried to teach it to the boys, but it was too complex for Ron (it _was_ a seventh year charm, so she really couldn't fault him. He _had_ genuinely tried) and apparently too delicate for Harry. He'd shredded multiple issues of Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet into confetti in his attempts to learn the charm. Hermione tried to feel genuine remorse of the destruction of Lavender and Parvati's reading material, she really did. If a few of her own books with titles like _Stormy Passions_ and _The Pirate's Temptation_ were also sacrificed to the cause well, it was really no one else's business, was it?

"Maybe that's it," Ron said, sounding dubious.

"I don't think so," Harry said, studying the picture Ron pointed to. He placed a scrap of paper in the book anyway, marking the place.

Hermione sighed in irritation as she came across yet another overblown description of the custom wedding ring of a Slytherin bride or groom. Her current book was a collection of Daily Prophet articles mentioning the Slytherin family, if only in passing. She had been surprised (and appalled) that such a book existed…until she came across ones focusing on many old families, including the Malfoys, Notts, Bones, Longbottoms, and Carmichaels. Apparently it had been a fashion a century ago, since all of them were painfully accurate until approximately 1900. Each book contained reams of dull announcements of weddings, births, and graduations. The Slytherin book was immense, thicker than the London telephone directory, even with the charms placed on it to make thinner and more manageable.

She was scouring another wedding announcement when Harry said, "That's it!"

"Christobel Slytherin and Isolde Tomlin," Ron read. Christobel had what Hermione had come to think of as the Slytherin 'look', which Harry had in spades, much to her discomfiture. Though Christobel's eyes were blue, they had the same exotic tilt as Harry's. And the chin and the nose were classic Slytherin. . Isolde was surprisingly plain, with brown eyes, curly brown hair, and a short, round figure. _A plow horse next to a thoroughbred_, Hermione thought. The hand that Christobel clasped in his own manicured one did indeed sport Harry's ring.

Hermione missed Harry's old thick-framed (hideous, really) glasses. His new glasses only seemed to emphasize his features, giving him the aristocratic looks that many of the pure-bloods shared. Of course, the Potters were an old family as well, and a lot of Harry's looks had come from his dad. Still, if she hadn't known already, she would have been hard-pressed to decide who was Harry's father, James Potter or Tom Riddle.

She leaned over Harry's shoulder, examining the entry. _November 30th, 1754 _was written in graceful calligraphy beneath the painting.

Eagerly they read the brief biographies.

**Lord Christobel Slytherin**

**December 12****th****, 1711—July 5****th****, 1866.**

"Long-lived lot, weren't they?" Ron said, impressed.

**Hogwarts (Ravenclaw) NEWTS: Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Thaumazoology.**

**Accreditations: Royal Guild of Charms Masters (1740), Academy of Organic Magics (Spain) (1739)**

**Married Isolde Tomlin May 8****th****, 1742**

**Lady Isolde Slytherin **_**nee**_** Tomlin**

**March 21****st**** 1713—November 2****nd****, 1849)**

**Hogwarts (Hufflepuff) NEWTS: Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Herbology, Geomancy.**

**Accreditation: Geomancer Society of France (1740).**

**Children: Clara (August 15****th****, 1743) Benjamin (October 29****th****, 1751).**

"Buncha overachievers," Ron said. "What the heck's Thaumazoology anyway?"

"Magical creatures," Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Ron huffed. "Whatever."

Hermione scanned the title of the book, "Portraiture of House Slytherin, 1300 to 1900." As the title promised, the book was a massive tone with every portrait of a Slytherin family member. Each merited the same brief description.

Ron thumbed through the book in aggravation. "Well, that's a fat lot of nothing."

"Now that we know their names and ages, I can narrow my search." She lifted her wand, casting her indexing charm anew. Harry and Ron seized other books as well, looking for references to the couple.

After wading through numerous clippings mentioning galas, donations, Hermione finally found something interesting. "Listen to this. Dated March 12th, 1751 'Lady Isolde Slytherin, wife of Lord Christobel Slytherin, was admitted to St. Mungo's on March 7th. Despite obstructions to our innocent inquiries, the Daily Prophet has learned that she is recovering from an attack by an unidentified Dark Creature in a private ward.' I wonder what sort of dark creature?" Unfortunately for Hermione's curiosity, the next article mentioning Lady Isolde, dated over a year later, was only an announcement of the donation of a collection of rare books to the Hogwarts Library.

"Well, I think we can assume, for the moment, that the ring was made in response to this attack. I wonder who made it?" Hermione said.

"Well, she was a geomancer, and bone is organic, isn't it? Maybe they made it themselves," Harry said.

"You think so?" Hermione said, her eyes going soft and misty. "How romantic."

Harry and Ron inched their chairs away. Mushiness could be contagious, after all.

Harry hated to admit it, but the research into his newly discovered heritage had been a good idea. Amid the Dark witches and wizards (and there were more than a few of those) were professors, healers, and powerful Light witches and wizards (though not so many as there were Dark). It was rather heartening, really. And like Voldemort had said, more than one Slytherin had married a former hostage.

---

**Saturday, October 5****th**

"Let's call it Dumbledore's Army!" Hermione said, carried away with rebellion and enthusiasm. _Really_, Harry thought, _it's always the quiet ones…well, the well-behaved ones, at least. _Hermione, after brow-beating him into submission, had taken Neville's idea and run with it. The Hog's Head was crowded with students ordering butterbeer and lemonade, leaving the regulars to sulk and nurse their ale and fire whiskey. After all, having a bunch of cheerful, neatly dressed students really ruined a good bad reputation.

Aloud, he said, "Look, let's not make this political, alright? This is just about people learning to defend themselves. Everybody's welcome, if they sign the parchment. Regardless of their family history or beliefs or anything else." He signed his name with a flourish, and tried not to blush when Cho smiled at him, drawing a Chinese character under his name with a graceful hand.

---

**Monday, October 7****th**

Ron fumed and scanned the hall for suspiciously blotchy faces as Umbridge beamed after making the announcement.

"Quidditch!" he hissed. "She can't cancel _Quidditch_! That's…that's like canceling Christmas! It's unholy!"

"Honestly, Ron, it's just a game," Hermione sighed, utterly exasperated by Ron's nearly ten-minute rant. Ron stared at the girl with horror, then pointedly turned his back on her to say to say to Dean, "Quidditch! If that's not an act of terrorism…" Dean nodded, appropriately solemn.

Harry grinned at Hermione and whispered, "Shouldn't have gone there."

"Well, at least he's nattering at somebody else now," she said, paging through Hogwarts, a History. Harry's reply caught in his throat when he spotted Hedwig making a limping circle towards him. He touched her injured wing and leg with trembling fingers. She hooted comfortingly.

---

"I'm sure Hedwig will be fine, Harry," Hermione said soothingly.

"Yeah, Dobby will take great care of her," Ron agreed.

Harry nodded, fingers nervously folding and refolding the strap of his book bag. Hedwig might very well have died out there, and Harry would never have known. He almost hoped he was being singled out. He hated the idea of any owl suffering.

Scarier still was the knowledge that they were almost completely cut-off. The Floo network was becoming suspiciously unreliable. And suddenly, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs seemed to be spending all of their time in their common rooms, leaving just the Gryffindors and Slytherins roaming the halls. Without the buffers of the other houses, the long-standing Snake/Lion rivalry was escalating.

---

Severus Snape was Very Displeased. That…that woman, that Ministry stooge, who had only managed a single NEWT (in Charms of all things, and a weak Acceptable at that) was inspecting _his class_. The fact that she seemed to be flirting with him only worsened matters. She smiled and nodded and took notes, making it obvious that she planned to make a glowing report on him to the Ministry, and expecting him to be grateful for it! He forced himself to be polite, even conciliatory, to the woman as she simpered at him. He reluctantly returned to his old teaching pattern, praising and rewarding the Slytherins (especially the Inquisitorial Squad) for anything other than abject failure and berating the Gryffindors. To his relief, Harry seemed to understand, and even created opportunities for him to take points. Though he did feel a bit guilty when Longbottom surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

He assigned Harry a detention when Draco whinged about the smoke from Harry's cauldron hurting his eyes, reluctantly ending the class. He gritted his teeth and accepted when That Woman invited him for tea in her office.

---

"Professor SNAPE, my eyes hurt! Waaaah!" Harry mocked. "Really, Draco, could you be more horribly spoilt?"

Draco grinned and shrugged. The pair was hiding out in a disused classroom. Millicent had suggested that it might be easier to protect Potter if Potter himself was in on it. Draco had reluctantly agreed, and had been pleasantly supprised by Potter's gleeful participation in their plans. Now that he knew Potter wasn't too goody-good to enjoy a good conspiracy, he was beginning to relish his role as one of Umbridge's underlings. Well, certain aspects of it. He'd accumulated reams of blackmail material in the last month or so. "As long as _somebody's_ persecuting you, Umbridge can concentrate on Dumbledore."

Harry's grin faltered. "I feel like I should be doing something to help."

Draco bit his tongue. Criticizing Dumbledore wasn't going to help his case with Harry. "Look, Potter, don't be so naïve. Dumbledore's been playing these games since your _grandparents_ went to school here. The best thing you can do to help him is keep your head down and get out of his way."

"You're probably right. It just seems…cowardly."

---

Voldemort frowned, sifting through the pile of reports from all over the world. Perhaps his undermining of Dumbledore's authority and bolstering of Fudge's had been a miscalculation. The reports he was receiving from Hogwarts were disturbing. Over a decade of laziness, greed, and eager sycophantism…and now, of all times, Fudge takes decisive, even creative, action. Really, it was most irritating. He'd placed the over-zealous and intractable Umbridge woman at Hogwarts, rather than one of Malfoy's bought and paid for mouth-pieces. Perhaps a third player was interfering in his puppet show? Until now, all strings had lead either to him or to Dumbledore.

Though his plans seemed to be proceeding apace on all other fronts. The giants were with him, despite Hagrid's efforts (did Dumbledore really think sending a half-breed outcast would benefit his cause?). Fenrir Greyback had only grown more powerful among the werewolves since the war, and Remus Lupin's credibility had eroded away. The vampires were sending a delegation on the Winter Solstice.

Severus assured him the Hogwarts situation was stabilizing. Perhaps if he provided the Ministry with other opportunities to neuter Dumbledore, they would turn their attention away from Hogwarts and Harry.

---

My Favorite HP Movie Scenes: Mostly in CoS. I LOVED the Parseltongue scenes. And baby Fawkes is SO CUTE.

**Harry Potter in Pop Culture**: Thanks to everybody who sent me these!

**Buffy the Vampire Slayer**

**Willow:** When you brought me here I thought it was to kill me, or to lock me in some mystical dungeon for all eternity, or with the torture, but instead you go all Dumbledore on me.

Charmed (there are a lot of these)

**Paige**: ...he could just zap them onto a roof like Harry Potter would or something.

**Piper**: After seeing what the kid can do inside the womb, he's no Muggle.

**Phoebe**: Hey, what about Potter? Potter Halliwell?

**Ms. Donovan**: Lord of the Rings?  
**Gnome Professor**: It's historically inaccurate!  
**Ms. Donovan**: Harry Potter?  
**Gnome Professor**: Filled with juvenile delinquents.  
**Ms. Donovan**: Even the Wizard of Oz?!  
**Gnome Professor**: Diparaging to little people. Munchkins being prosecuted.

**Wizard**: Do you know any other wizards?  
**Paige**: Does Harry Potter count?

Love Actually 

Hugh Grant's character (the Prime Minister) says this:

"I love that word "relationship". Covers all manner of sins, doesn't it? I fear that this has become a bad relationship. A relationship based on the President taking exactly what he wants and casually ignoring all those things that really matter to, erm... Britain. We may be a small country but we're a great one, too. The country of Shakespeare, Churchill, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter. David Beckham's right foot. David Beckham's left foot, come to that. And a friend who bullies us is no longer a friend. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to be much stronger. And the President should be prepared for that."

The Simpsons

Ned reads: "And Harry Potter and all his wizard friends went straight to Hell for practicing witchcraft!" to which his children shout, "Yay!"

Reader Notes: One reader commented that the Kiss doesn't kill people immediately. My bad. Let's just say that receiving the Kiss was so horrible that Marge had a heart attack on the spot.

Please **Review**! They have an amazing power to light a fire under my butt!


	27. Big Sister is Watching You

Author's Note: The lovely XME made Harry's **family tree** for me! I have a link on my profile. I put the image on my profile as well, but it's awfully tiny. Thanks a lot!

* * *

Ronald Bilius Weasley was not going to take this lying down. Or sitting down. Whatever. Playing Quidditch was his Merlin-given right, and he wasn't going to give it up without a fight. He was a bit perturbed that Harry was all gung-ho about this Defense thing, but couldn't care less about not being about to play Quidditch. _Quidditch!_

Of course, Harry had been playing for Gryffindor for three years already. It was probably all old hat to him. But here was Ron's chance! He'd been practicing since Harry had gotten on the team their first year, especially this summer. He'd gritted his teeth and soldiered on as the twins and Ginny pelted him with quaffles for hours on end.

Of course, Harry really didn't have a clue. With his talent, he could go on to play professionally. Ron had long gotten over his jealousy about that (really, he had!) and had learned to admire his friend's talent. Harry hadn't gotten to play last year with that damn Tournament bullshit, and that Umbridge bitch was trying to crap all over his chances for this year. Harry was oblivious of course, and Ron didn't want to make him nervous, but Ron knew that the Quidditch scouts in the stands their third year had been looking mostly at Harry.

So, while Ron wanted a chance to shine on the Quidditch field, he was keenly aware that his talent wouldn't take him beyond Hogwarts. But Harry was different, and Ron was going to make sure he had his chance.

---

Voldemort signed "_Thomas_ _Marvolo, Lord Slytherin_" with a flourish to the last of a number of scrolls. Picking up a stick of green wax, he heated the wax with a touch of wandless magic and dribbled it over the scroll, pressing the Slytherin family seal into the cooling wax. The wax itself was unique, serving as yet another verifier of his identity as Lord Slytherin. It shone with flecks of silver, gold, and deep green.

As Voldemort opened the next report, a silver tray appeared, bearing a teapot full of Darjeeling, a pot of jam and another of clotted cream, and a dozen currant scones. Indifferent to the food as he had been since his rebirth, he continued to read the report. Though the Veela clans of France had always ignored his overtures, they were very impressed with young Harry's rescue of Miss Delacour. Perhaps, when Harry was is openly acknowledged heir, they might become more amendable. Still, a few overtures to smooth the way would not be amiss.

A second elegant silver tea service replaced the first. This one contained a pot of herbal tea and a plate of sliced fruits and cheeses. He ignored that one as well, and opened the next report. A few of the nobles of Castile and Aragon had responded to his inquiries. The Spanish Inquisition had left a lingering foul taste in the mouths of the magical population of those kingdoms. Though muggle-borns were tolerated, they still viewed Muggles (especially the Roman Catholic Church) with hostility and suspicion. Parents of muggle-borns were heavily charmed to ensure their silence on all matters magical, a practice that Voldemort found more than reasonable, but was heavily frowned on by the Ministries of Great Britain, the Netherlands, and Germany.

An exquisite porcelain tea pot that smelled vaguely of peaches and raspberries and a small stack of sandwiches on still-warm bread replaced the second offering. This tray actually nudged his elbow ever-so-gently, and he was almost certain that the air currents in the room had been charmed to waft the scent of the fruity tea and fresh bread continuously around him.

This was rapidly becoming annoying. The house elves had been ecstatic at his return, only a few months ago. His simple presence been more than enough for them—for a few months.

Now, after Harry, they were used to someone to _do_ for. To feed, to dress, to wash up after, to provide for…in short, they wanted a…well…_human_ to pamper and care for. His only sustenance (except for the occasional live frog or mouse) was the special tea he insisted on preparing himself. He no longer perspired, so his clothes rarely needed laundering, nor did he care to change them unless it was necessary. He preferred basking in the sun to sleeping in a bed, though the elves continued to turn down the sheets each night for him, and change the bedding daily. Unlike Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort needed none of that.

Tom Riddle had first arrived here in August of 1943. Muggles feared Hitler and the magical world feared Grindelwald. And Tom Riddle feared the Aurors.

Dressed in cheaply made, ill-fitting clothes (all that his few ration coupons and meager funds would allow him), and still reeling from his first deliberate murders, he'd finally come home. Here, to luxury that beggared royalty, history older than Rome's Londonium, knowledge to rival the fabled lost library of Alexandria, and _magic_. Blessed Merlin, the magic.

He'd spent every moment he could soaking up all the ancient house had to offer, barely allowing himself to sleep a few hours at night. It had been quite a change from the orphanage, and even from Hogwarts. Here, nothing was denied him. The house-elves had literally wept over him. Delicious meals had appeared on an hourly basis. Rich garments were tailored for him. The light always fell perfectly across the pages he read. Books and scrolls on every subject he could imagine, and many he still couldn't fully understand. Deep stone baths full of hot water at any hour. Chests of coinage, including Muggle currency from all over Europe as well as Galleons. All of that personal care, that bounty, lavished only on him…it had been a heady, heady thing.

For the first time ever in Tom Riddle's life, he had _nice things_. New things. Expensive things. Beautiful things. Though, he was careful not to advertise his changed circumstances too boldly. He had arrived at Hogwarts that year with a new (new to him, at least) trunk. Though purchased at a second-hand shop, it was in good condition and had charms to lighten and expand it. Most of his books were also second hand (which was better than his usual fourth or fifth hand, and all were the current editions), but now he was able to purchase more than the bare minimum. He did bring an exquisite set of dress-robes from the Slytherin family seat, altered to fit him. They were an inky green-black with silver and black embroidery. Rather understated, but he looked quite striking in them.

Unfortunately, his enjoyment had been rather spoilt. While Headmaster Dippet had congratulated Tom on his lucrative summer job, Dumbledore had watched him even more keenly, which had been more than a little annoying. The man hadn't managed to twig on to him fast enough to prevent that nosy Myrtle's accidental death, but he now he was observant enough that Tom was afraid to spend a Knut he couldn't account for.

Voldemort allowed himself a tiny smile. He'd see if that old man could dance as fast as he'd forced Tom Riddle to.

---

**Monday, October 7****th** (continued)

"Well, it's not like we're losing a _real_ teacher," Harry said pragmatically. The more he thought about Trelawney's 'predictions' over the last two years, the less he appreciated being used to impress bimbos like Lavender and Parvati. He had enough problems without her manufacturing them.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "I'd think _you_, of all people, would be sympathetic to someone who's being persecuted."

"I have to agree with Harry here. I mean, it's not like Umbridge even has to make crap up to make Trelawney look bad. She should've been sacked years ago."

Hermione marched towards the Defense classroom in a huff.

Defense had become rather like a more unpleasant History of Magic. Most of the students simply zoned out, mechanically turning pages periodically. When Hermione turned a page, Ron copied her, then Harry, then Neville, and so on. It was rather like the 'wave' that Muggles did at sporting events.

---

Harry, Hermione, and Ron dove behind the battered couch in the Gryffindor common room as a pudgy, be-ringed hand groped in the fireplace where Sirius' head had just been. Heart in his throat, Harry waited. He'd no idea that the Floo could be invaded this way, like a phone tap or something.

Finally, Umbridge gave up. Harry vowed to warn Sirius off. It was becoming too dangerous.

* * *

Thanks for all of your reviews! I lost my job and so I was too down to really write this.

Romans (who founded the city) called it Londonium. It got shortened to 'London' over the years.

Library at Alexandria--this was once the largest library in the world. It was destroyed sometime between 100 and 600 AD.

For all of you who have been asking for a Voldemort scene--hope you enjoyed it! I have been trying to work up a Voldemort scene for several chapters now. He's such a diva! He's all "What's my motivation?" and I'm like "Pillage! Plunder! Taking over the world! Absolute Power! To crush your enemies. To see them driven before you. And to hear the lamentations of their women... " and he's all "Whatever. I'm not feeling it. I think I'll have a soy latte in my trailer. Call me when you learn how to write."

Thanks to all who reviewed and set my butt on fire!


	28. Something stirring

Many, many apologies for the inexcusably long wait. And on top of that, this chapter is pathetically short! I really wanted to work the kinks out of the next bit before I posted, but I decided it had been FAR to long with out an update. So, consider this an appetizer, and I'll post a meatier chapter ASAP.

* * *

Nahual, Crookshanks, Hedwig, and (unfortunately) Pigwidgeon were having a conference in the owlry. Hedwig politely offered her guests some fresh field mice. Pigwidgeon offered some very mangled crickets.

Crookshanks' tail fluffed as he grimly informed the quartet of what he'd overheard from his human.

Nahual peeped unhappily. Why hadn't her familiar let her know he was in trouble?

Preening pensively, Hedwig suggested that perhaps he hadn't wanted her to worry. Their boy was very noble that way.

And stupid, Crookshanks agreed laconically.

Stupidly noble. Or nobly stupid.

Heywhat'sthatit'sathing! Pigwidgeon zoomed away.

Nahual covered her head with her wings, making small, miserable noises.

Hedwig pointed out that Harry was relatively undamaged (by normal Harry standards, at least) so they should look to the future, not bemoan the past.

Crookshanks commented Mrs. Norris would need to be neutralized. She was following her unfortunate human's example and had proven most unreasonable to his polite suggestions on appropriate behavior.

Where'sthethingIcan'tfinditthereitis!

Hedwig noted that Caesar was quite fond of cats and she'd mention this to him. Crookshanks ignored the massive eagle owl as he turned his yellow gaze on the trio.

CaesarlikesHedwig! Caes—oof! Pigwidgeon twittered unhappily under Caesar's foot. Caesar shifted his weight and ignored the tiny owl.

Putting on a brave face, Nahual commented that she'd made a few friends among some of Hogwarts older—and weirder—denizens. Maybe they could help.

---

Dolores Umbridge pressed her newly-minted High Inquisitor seal into the pink wax that sealed her letter. She knew that Lucius Malfoy would be very pleased by her glowing report on his son. A stack of similar reports waited for delivery for all of the parents of her Squad. Really, they were such a helpful lot. Smart enough to know which way the wind was blowing.

Really, Hogwarts was not as wonderful as everyone made it out to be. It was worn, dirty, old and more than a little naughty. Moving staircases, opinionated portraits, nosy ghosts, troublemaking poltergeists, and all sorts of other unpleasant and inconvenient things infested the place. It was hardly better than the Forbidden Forest. Really, she was fortunate to have been spared seven years here. Miss Lamb's Academy for Young Ladies had been more than enough. After all, who was the High Inquisitor? Not a _Hogwart's_ graduate, to be sure! 

She sighed indulgently as kittenish growling caught her attention. Her kittens gave her such joy (better than any real cat!) but sometimes they got quite possessive of their own territories. Snowball in particular could be quite aggressive, and Marmalade was forever wandering into the white Persian's English garden. The growl became an ear-piercing yowl, and Dolores turn in annoyance. She might have to put Marmalade away for a few days if he didn't…Dolores shrieked and tore Snowball's plate from the wall. She frantically shook the plate, the prize of her collection, helpless to stop the unfolding tragedy. With a final leisurely twist of its coils, the snake crushed a last helpless mew from the fluffy white kitten. Its eyes bulged and bloody foam drooled from its mouth, matting the white fur. While Dolores screamed and hammered the plate against her desk, the snake swallowed her beloved kitten, head first.

---

Severus ran pell-mell for Dolores's office. Her hysterical wailing and screaming through the inter-office floo had him worried about a prank gone awry—one that could be potentially harmful. The last thing they needed was for Umbridge to meet an untimely end on school grounds. He slammed the door open and found Dolores weeping and pointing at the wall. Glancing at the pink wall, he noticed something off about the collection of plates. As he peered more closely, a cobra rose from inside a knitting basket filled with balls of yarn and spread its hood warningly. There was not a single nauseatingly-cute kitten to be seen. Adders, boa constrictors, cobras, and even runespoors coiled in each plate, each with a suspicious bulge in its midsection.

"I turned around and one was eating Snowball," Dolores said tearfully, clutching a plate to her. "Then they were everywhere! They crawled and slithered out of the trees, the grass, the brick…that one came out of the teapot!" she said, her voice rising shrilly as she gestured at one of the plates.

Snape gingerly tapped one plate with a fingernail. It seemed someone was waking some of the castle's more…unpleasant defenses.

* * *

Fic recs: I'd like everyone to recommend a HP fic on FF . net that they think readers of this fic would enjoy. Frankly, so many on my alert list (looks guilty) have been abandoned that I need some good suggestions.

BTW, was anyone else PISSED OFF by Book 7? Good house-elf dies. Bad house-elf lives, and is 'redeemed'. What's left of Sirius's reputation is trashed. Harry marries Ginny (ick) and names his kids after two border-line sociopaths. Goblin steals sword of Gryffindor, but it's okay b/c that's their 'culture'. Lucius and Narcissa and Draco live happily ever after. Doloroes STILL doesn't get hers. Harry forgives the Dursleys, or at least Dudley. deep cleansing breath glad I got that off my chest.

Anyway, review please. Even though I'm a lazy bad author. Pretty please?


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